The Canadian and the American
by NihonBara
Summary: Prince Matthew is to be "subjugated" by Lord Ivan for several days. He wants a way out and then he discovers the young American peasant, Alfred, who's been impersonating him. Now he has an idea. Russia x US A Prince and Pauper story
1. Chapter 1: Oh, Canada!

(I wanted to use strikethrough, but fanfiction doesn't support it. So when there are brackets those mean strikethrough.)

**The Canadian and the American**

_Prince Matthew is to be "subjugated" by Lord Ivan for several days. He wants a way out and then he discovers the young American peasant, Alfred, who's been impersonating him. Now he has an idea. (Russia x US)_

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1<span>

Oh Canada!

* * *

><p>Alfred F. Jones had a list.<p>

Not in words, but in pictures. Indecipherable to anyone who didn't know what his symbols meant. It went like this:

[1.) Learn to find Canada on a map.] (Found it.)

[1.) Become Canada's hero and protector.] (Done.)

1.) Show them the awesome taste of hamburgers. (They have no taste. Just delicious pancakes and syrup.)

1.) Teach them their capitol is "Toronto", not "Ottawa". (They can't get that right.)

[1.) Show them how amazing the US is!] (Pfft! Good one. No need to teach a fact!)

2.) Find clues about real parents.

The last one would be tricky. All they had left him were his glass_es - Texas_ - and his brown bomber jacket with the number 50 sewn in white threading on the back. He wore both items now.

Cresting the top of the grassy hill, he took in the sight of Toronto, the fabled capital of Canada. The dawn set its eggshell-white outer walls and inner buildings ablaze in golden hues. A palace with four turrets and blue-tiled roofing stood proudly at its heart. Alfred planted his fists against his side, chest puffed out, and admired the home of the Prince of Canada.

His expression changed as he noticed the shanties and tents, clustered like patches of mushrooms, around the front gates. They were likely more of the refugees that Alfred had been encountering. People who had fled homelands snatched up by the cruel tyrant, Lord Ivan, whom rumors said could control the Winter. Alfred glared at the eastern mountains. Black clouds broiled beyond them, where the kingdom of Russia lay, and Lord Ivan ruled.

Alfred shook his fist there and said, "One day you'll get yours, Ivan."

If they ever met, Alfred would make the Russian dictator sorry for all the people he had hurt. Alfred was no ordinary man, anyone could see that just by the rucksack he carried - twice what a man should be able to bear. He would make Ivan weep for his sins and beg on his knees. No one was stronger than Alfred. When he was young, a buffalo charged his sister and he saved her, swinging it around.

That had been back in the untamed and wild States with his adopted family.

How he missed his homeland, but he had to continue.

He slammed a fist in his palm as a thought occurred to him. After taking out his charcoal pencil and unrolling his parchment, he drew an image of a bear - Ivan - with Alfred jumping up and down on him.

That translated to:

3.) Kick Ivan's ass.

Stuffing everything back in his jacket's pockets, Alfred strolled down to Toronto with a wide grin, heading toward his destiny.

* * *

><p>"I'm no thief!" the young urchin cried flailing about as he was dragged by collar of his woolen shirt. "It's not stolen!"<p>

Drawn by the commotion, Alfred's sensed a need for a hero and pushed his way to the front of the market's gathering crowd of onlookers. The tall guard, decked in a blue suit with bronze buttons down the front, had the boys hands pinned behind his back. He was bulkier and held the kid, nothing but skin and bones, with ease.

"Enough, you brat!" the guard said, angular face snarled in a scowl. His thick black eyebrows knitted together. "You bought that food with stolen money!"

"No sir, I earned it."

"How aboot telling the truth? A wretch like you isn't paid with a crown."

"I worked. Betcha don't know what that is."

The guard sneered, tossing the kid to a shorter and fatter officer. "Let's take him in."

"Let him go," Alfred said, stepping to the front of the crowd.

"Who dares..." the guard fell silent, mouth dropping open when he saw Alfred.

_I'm that intimidating?_ Alfred thought proudly.

"Did you not hear?" Alfred said. "Let him go."

The other soldier let go and the boy glanced between Alfred and him in confusion before taking off into the crowd.

"Sir, would you like us to escort you?" the guard asked, coming up beside him.

"No, thanks," Alfred said, his opinion of the guardsman already changing. What kind fellows they were! Canada really was a generous kingdom. "I'd like to explore alone."

"As you wish my lord," the man said, bowing, but continued watching Alfred.

Alfred ducked down an alley and out of sight wondering what that had been all about. As he was about to discover, it was not only the guards who were very kind-hearted towards him, but the banks, government offices, and many places were as well. Sometimes they even called him, "Your majesty." Those Canadians! Such a swell people.

As he chowed down on a plate of free pancakes, the staff racing around to give him the best seating and maple syrup in the place, he said, "What a great place this Toronto is! Everything here really is free!"

* * *

><p>"I can't do it!" Matthew whined, sinking into the silk-padded sofa besides King Francis as he puts his face in his palms. His polar bear, Kumjaro, nuzzled his right side with his cold, wet nose. "I'm doomed."<p>

"There, there, Mon cheri, it won't be so bad," the visiting Lord of the Kingdom of France assured him. "If you refuse, you know what he'll do. Canada's winter is long enough without General Winter's magic."

"But Subjugation?" Matthew said, shuddering at the thought. "What if I end up like Lithuania's lord afterwards and have to be locked up for my own safety?"

"Well, monsieur, Lithuania was an exception. Lord Ivan gets tired of most after a week."

"I hear he can be sadistic and enjoys showering pain and pleasure on his...," Prince Matthew trailed off, shivering at the thought.

"Oh does he ever!" Francis said cheerfully. Matthew paled further. "Don't fret, mon cheri! You might end up like me. Freed after only two days and then he went back to Russia." Francis sounded almost sad about this.

"But how did you do it?"

"Ah," the French man said, sighing like he was remembering something lovely as he chuckled, "That man is so dirty, but I'm dirtier. A pity even he was unwillingly to do all the things I suggested," Francis said with another disappointed sigh.

Prince Matthew stared at him in horror.

King Francis took no noticed as he continued, "I hear the German Lord, Ludwig, though only had to do half a day with Lord Ivan before it was over."

"And why is that?" Matthew squeaked, sure he didn't want to know the answer.

"Well, Mon Cheri," Francis said, leaning into Matthew with a devilish gleam, "Ludwig isn't so much dirty like me, but he loves being tortured. Those kinky Germans and their love of sadism," he chuckled.

"I'm doomed," The Canadian Lord repeated, slumping in his seat; placing a hand on Kumajora's soft head. "He'll know I'm not into those things and have no experience. I hear he likes innocence."

"But Mon Cheri we both know you aren't that innocent," Francis grinned, "Though I'd happily make you less innocent if you like."

"N-No thank you," Matthew said, but he hesitated , his cheeks pinking.

"What do you think of aphrodisiac?" Francis said.

"If only there was a way out of this," Matthew said, gazing up at the ceiling. A knock interrupted them and they stood up as he told the person to enter.

It was a messenger boy who said, "My lord, the Captain of the Guard, Gilbert, wishes to inform you that his awesome men and even more incredibly awesome self have captured a man who's been impersonating you."

"Impersonating me?" Matthew said and then an idea appeared in his head. "Bring him here at once, please," he said.

"Um, of course, your majesty," he said with a bow.

"You shouldn't say 'please' to the subjects," King Francis said, adding, "It confuses them."

"But it seems so rude not to," Prince Matthew said.

"So what're you planning?"

"The solution to everything. Let's see how good this impersonator really is."

* * *

><p>Icy water pouring down his head woke Alfred. He spluttered and struggled, only to find his wrists and ankles bound together by iron shackles. He felt weak and woozy, his energy sapped to nothing. His mind scrambled to understand what had happened and what was going on. The last he remembered was drinking some awful Canadian beer.<p>

"Up you scum," said a voice as a gloved hand slapped him across the face.

Alfred jerked against his bonds, reaching to grab his assailant, but found his reach limited by a chain attached to a metal belt as his stomach. The room was shadowy and he lay on a marble-stone floor. His vision was blurry, but things quickly took shape. The room was well-furbished. There was an oak desk at the back with two tall windows on either side, heavy curtains keeping light out.

In what little grey light there was he saw the man who had hit him had ruby-eyes and platinum hair sticking out from under the sides of his silver and gold helm. He crouched over Alfred.

"Sir Gilbert, was that necessary?" asked a soft voice from the left.

Alfred looked toward the source, squinting. He saw a sofa with a figure sitting there, hidden by deep shadows. No, wait, he realized. There were two figures. One was just really hard to see.

"What did you do?" Alfred asked, throat hurting. "Did you drug me?"

"Shut it, cur," the Captain said, standing up. A guard stood behind Alfred, grabbing the back of Alfred's collar and forced him onto his knees. Another guard, booted feet clacking on the marble, walked to the sofa, carrying something. "He was found with that."

"With what?" Alfred asked, wondering what they had done with his rucksack. It wasn't here.

The smaller of the two figures on the sofa, unrolled a long parchment and Alfred's eyes widened. "My list!" he said, trying to stand, but was forced back to his knees. "It's mine."

"Its his majesty's now," Gilbert said, raising his hand to hit Alfred who glared at him defiantly.

"Enough, Sir Gilbert," that soft voice said. "You may go. You and all your men."

"Majesty," Gilbert said, "Is that wise? He's an im-"

"Sir Gilbert, did you not hear me?"

Gilbert went to attention and bowed curtly. "My apologies, your majesty."

Alfred glanced around as the two guards also went to attention, bowing low, and then exiting the room through two doubled doors behind Alfred. They shut it with a loud thud. When they were gone, the two figures on the couch rose. The taller one strode into the bar of light, the only stretching from the window that fell on Alfred, and examined Alfred.

"Amazing, mon cheri. A perfect match." The blonde-haired man had a french accent. His deep blue eyes studied Alfred. His ridiculous blue coat and large feather hat matched their color.

"Who the hell are you?" Alfred growled. "And where am I?"

The man's nose turned up and he sniffed. "That accent. You're a US barbarian."

"And damn proud of it!"

"How is this possible?" that timid voice from before said. He stepped into the light. He wore a plain dark red-coat and thin-rimmed glasses of his own.

Alfred gaped, eyes widening, he thought he was looking in a mirror. His head cleared in an instant. Words tumbled out of his mouth. "It's me!"

They only differed in eye color and the shade of their hair. Also Alfred was better-looking.

"He's not you, idiot," the French man said haughtily. "You are a peasant. He is your liege, the Prince of Canada."

"I have no liege," Alfred said. "My country doesn't respect royalty."

"You res-" The French man began until Prince Matthew placed a hand on his shoulder and he fell silent.

"Enough, Francis," Matthew said, looking over Alfred. "Yes, you'll do. A spell can adjust those eyes."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Why would I change my God-given eyes?"

Matthew held up the unfurled parchment and asked, "What is this, wildman?"

"Alfred," Alfred said, testing his bonds. His strength was slowly returning. "That's my list and I'd like it back, thank you very much."

"How dare you order his majesty," Francis hissed, but Matthew squeezed his shoulder.

"It's all right, Francis. Alfred, what do you mean list? List of doodles?"

"Doodles?" Alfred gasped. "That's my list of heroic deeds to do!"

Matthew and Francis both frowned.

"Heroic deeds?" Francis snickered. "Of stick figures?"

"So you want to put a cape on a stick?" Matthew asked, eyebrows knitting together. He flipped the list around and pointed at where Alfred had drawn a cape blowing in the breeze on himself.

"Stick? That's me being the hero," Alfred said.

"You want to become a hero?" Matthew said, tilting his head in interest.

"Want to? No, I am the hero," Alfred said proudly.

After the Frog and Prince exchanged a look, Matthew handed the Frog the list and approached Alfred.

"You're a hero, are you?" Matthew asked.

"I am."

Matthew smiled softly. "Then how about saving me?"

(That's the end of chapter 1. More will come later as we build toward the meeting of Lord Ivan and Alfred.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**In The Chasm of Sunflowers  
><strong>

(Lord Ivan makes his entrance!)

* * *

><p>Lord Kiku couldn't put his finger on it, but there was definitely something different about Prince Matthew. He still twiddled his fingers and smiled shyly, always looking away, but now those actions didn't fit him anymore. And there was something else...<p>

Prince Matthew belched loudly and said with a laugh, "Sorry 'bout that! Better out than in I say!"

Yes, something was different. "Has he always been this charismatic?" Kiku wondered. Even though Matthew, yes that was it, was sitting on his throne with Gilbert standing beside him with an unreadable expression, he stood out. Next to Gilbert, Prince Matthew stood out more! This was unbelievable. "Is this the same Prince that Lord Ivan once sat on for an entire meeting and never noticed was there?" Now, Prince Matthew even when speaking softly, commanded attention. The room could have been filled with people and Kiku was sure he'd still stand out.

"Is something wrong Lord Kiku?" Prince Matthew asked, starting to beam at him but then it quickly turned into another of those coy smiles.

"N-Nothing," Kiku said, looking away with a blush. Embarrassed that he had been caught starting. "I-I think I should get going home. It's a long journey," he said, standing up from the seat they'd set for him in the throne room. Servants immediately carried it away.

"Going so soon?" Prince Matthew said, looking sad as he came down to Lord Kiku. "Well it was great seeing you, Lord Kiku," he said and slapped him on the back. The force of it threw Kiku onto the floor and Prince Matthew sputtered, "Oh geez, s-sorry about that. I don't know my own strength."

He heard Gilbert groan from the back.

"N-No, it's all right," Kiku said, shocked that Prince Matthew was squatting behind him. Gilbert was there in a flash, shooing Prince Matthew back as he helped Kiku up. Kiku resisted the urged to rub his shoulder, sure he'd have a bruise. Was Prince Matthew always so strong? "Sorry I was in the path of your hand. I'll be more careful next time."

"Um... okay," Prince Matthew said, twiddling his fingers again and rubbing the back of his head. It was like a well-rehearsed pattern. That idea gave Kiku pause, but he shook the wild thought away. It was impossible.

"I'll consider your proposals. Until then," he said, bowing. Matthew quickly bowed back. Too quickly and too low in fact; their heads collided, sending Kiku once more to the floor. His head was ringing.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Prince Matthew said, as Gilbert sighed heavily and helped Lord Kiku up.

"This way your highness," Gilbert said, leading him toward the large oak doors of the throne room.

"Thank you, Prince Matthew" Kiku said, a little dazed. He held back the urge to touch his bruised forehead.

"See ya later, your highness," Prince Matthew called, waving and barely hiding his big grin.

Lord Kiku smiled nervously and gave him a nod, trying to hide how quickly he wanted out of the room, fearful that at any moment the Canadian Prince might accidentally send him through a wall.

Yes, something was different. This Prince Matthew was as naive as always, but now he was jolly and boisterous. Again a crazy thought appeared in his head, but he brushed it off as nonsense.

* * *

><p>The moment Kiku was gone, Alfred asked Gilbert, "So, how was I? Pretty good, right?"<p>

"Let me put it this way. A pack of rabid wolves would make for a better Prince Matthew than you," Gilbert said, rounding on him. "Since when does Prince Matthew speak and act so crudely? And are you trying to kill Lord Kiku?"

"C'mon give me a break. I tried my best!" Alfred said, rubbing the back of his head. "It's just this shy thing of his, well, it's really hard to understand. It was my first time and Kiku there seemed fooled."

"But Lord Kiku is not the suspicious type," Lord Francis said, coming out from a door that sat on the left side of the throne's raised platform. "You are about as civilized and regal as a pig!"

"Same to you frog!" Alfred snapped.

"Frog?!" Francis said, astounded at Alfred insolence. "I'm far above you peasant. How dare you address me so!" He reached for his slender sword that hung from his belt.

"Sorry buddy but I come from the Land of the Free where everyone is equal."

"Enough," squeaked a small voice. Alfred glanced around for the source. "I'm right here!" it said again. He lifted up his boots, looking under, then behind him. "Right in front of you!"

"He's right here you idiot!" France said, pointing to his right.

"Oh hey, Mattie! Didn't see you there," Alfred said, beaming at him. "How do you that trick? You've got to teach me."

Prince Matthew sighed as Lord Francis finally let go of the handle of his blade, though he still looked miffed. "Listen Alfred," Matthew began. "Lord Francis is right. How will you ever fool Lord Ivan if you keep... keep acting like you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I belch? Do I do all that? And poor Lord Kiku! Were you trying to hurt him?"

"He'll be fine. And as for my performance, well you could if you'd loosen up a little," Alfred said.

"Maybe this was a mistake," Matthew said, rubbing his forehead. "You'll never fool Ivan."

"Now don't say that," Alfred said, "I can do this! Besides how well does this Ivan guy know you?"

"Well, not that well I suppose," Matthew stammered. "He didn't even notice I was under him when he sat on me for a whole meeting."

"He sat on you?" Alfred asked flatly.

"Y-Yes," Matthew said, hanging his head in shame.

"Mon cheri, don't feel sad. You can sit on my lap if yo-," Francis began, but was cut off by an adamant," NO!" from both boys who exchanged surprise looks.

"Sorry I'm so used to him hitting on me or threatening to kill me that I...," Alfred trailed off.

"No, it's all right," Matthew said, his cheeks pinking. Francis glanced from one to the other, thinking about something deeply.

"Ah, man, don't be so gloomy all the time," Alfred assured Matthew. "It'll work. Things will work out. You just need a can do spirit!" He grinned again and Matthew shyly tried to smile back.

Wow, this kid is bottled up inside himself, Alfred mused.

"Well, the eye color magic worked, but this," Francis said, stepping between the two as he reached up and pulled on Alfred's cowlick, "is straight again. It's also back to that lovely wheat color."

"Hey! Don't touch that," Alfred said, pulling away. The last thing he wanted was the French man to stroke his Nantucket.

"Maybe we should cut both of your cowli-?"

"NO!" They both said at the same time and exchanged another surprised look.

"Hmm... you two have the timing between you right," Francis noted, adding, "Maybe Alfred is right. Maybe this can work."

"We only have three days to get him into shape," Matthew said.

"Then let's do this!" Alfred said, pumping his fist. He had a lot riding on this himself.

* * *

><p>"No, that's your soup spoon!" Gilbert chided him again. "And look at that napkin! It needs to be in your lap not on the floor! And those elbows! Off the table!"<p>

"Yes, your highness," Alfred muttered sarcastically, reaching down to pick up the napkin.

"What was that?" Gilbert said, swatting the back of Alfred's head with a newspaper. "What did you say about my awesome self? It's your incredibly awesome highness to you!"

They had been at this for three days and tomorrow Lord Ivan would arrive. Alfred had gotten better or at least he felt he had, but there were still about a billion things a noble had to remember. He wanted to write it down, but he could barely read and write so that was difficult. They were teaching him that stuff too.

Think of the money! Think of the money! he thought gritting his teeth as he tried again. His mind drifted back to that day.

"I-I want you to be me," Prince Matthew said.

"Pardon?" Alfred said, leaning forward with a hand around his ear. Sure he hadn't heard correctly.

"I-I want you to be me!" Prince Matthew repeated louder.

"Why would you want that?" Alfred asked, stuck some place between dazed and confused.

"I can't tell you the situation until you agree to the terms," he said. "But it's matter of utmost importance and I will make it very worth your while."

"You want me to agree to something without knowing what it is I'm agreeing to?"

"Yes," he said with a nod.

"Um, that's kinda stupid," Alfred said. The Prince frowned, clearly he wasn't used to being spoken to so directly.

"How dare you speak with such insolence," the French Guy said, reaching for his blade, but the Prince waved for him to stop.

"That is the deal, take it or leave it. I can tell you a few things. It won't involve more than a few days. I will not ask you to harm or slay anyone. Think of it as a small favor that if you don't agree to do, you get locked away in the dungeon."

"Why am I being locked up in the first place?" Alfred demanded, remembering the injustice of how he was dragged here. "I didn't do anything."

"You impersonated me."

"I did not. Everyone kept giving me stuff. How as I to know it was because you have my face?"

"Since when do people just hand out things freely? Surely you realized your crime and took advantage of the situation. I cannot let you roam freely," The Canadian Lord said.

"Prick," Alfred spat. A sword was at his throat as Lord Francis was there in a flash, warning him, "Say another filthy word like that and you won't ever say another from that pretty face, Mon Cheri."

"Francis, wait!" the Prince said, pulling him back. "I need him alive."

The French Men sheathed his blade, but eyed Alfred like he was filth. Alfred returned the glare in kind and then averted it quickly as the Frenchman's dark look turned into a lustful look. Alfred threw his attention back on the Canadian Prince. What was up with that French Guy? Did he want to kill Alfred or kiss him? He didn't want to know the answer, but he suspected that the Frenchmen was only free of his desires whenever his anger took over.

"What are you offering for this favor?" Alfred asked.

"One thousand crowns."

Alfred laughed and said, "You're kidding, right? I couldn't feed a dog with that."

"Two thousand crowns."

"For unknown favors like this, my asking price is fifteen thousand crowns minimum and my own plot of land. A nice place that borders the USA. Say the size of twenty farms."

Francis and the Prince gasped, "Fifteen thousand crowns?!"

"Ridiculous!" Franics sniffed.

"Four thousand crowns," the Canadian answered.

"You drive a hard bargain. Fourteen thousand crowns."

"Six thousand and fifty farms-worth of land with your own servants to help," the Prince said. Land was plentiful in Canada.

Alfred thought about it. The idea of more land was appealing. He nodded his assent.

"Good, then it's a deal! I'll have a contract drawn up soon."

"Now that we have that settled. What have I agreed to?"

Francis and the Prince exchanged a look. Never a good sign. The Prince nodded to Francis and walked away as Francis proceeded to describe that Alfred was to be subjugated by Lord Ivan in Prince Matthew's place and what that would entail.

By the time he finished, Alfred was wide-eyed, blushing, and couldn't stop gaping. When he finally got his jaw back under control, he looked around the room, searching for the Prince. He couldn't find him so he just shouted, "HE WANTS TO DO WHAT?! TO MY WHAT?! WHAT KIND OF FREAK IS THIS GUY?! I'M DOUBLING - NO TRIPLING THE PRICE!"

They refused to let him triple the price, but they did accede another thousand crowns if only to shut him up. He had to admit he was getting a really good deal. Alfred would get the land he'd always dreamed of and money to get it going. He just had to... suffer through some uncomfortable things at the hands of a lunatic for a while. They assured him that Lord Ivan had never seriously maimed or scarred any of his noble "conquests". He would restrain himself against a Prince.

That didn't comfort Alfred much being he wasn't really a Prince.

You can do this. You can. You're a hero, right? He told himself as he picked up his soup spoon and with a shaky hand sipped it, careful not to slurp. It wasn't easy. Things like this never were. Stupid nobility.

* * *

><p>Dawn was dreary and cold. A chill had filled the air that spoke of the coming winter and something worse. Alfred was not usually sensitive to these kind of things, but he couldn't ignore the feeling of dread that was in the air.<p>

He's coming, he thought, staring off his balcony toward the tall mountains that led toward Russia. Somewhere in the forest between them and Ottowa, Lord Ivan's procession was making its way here and taking their winter with it.

Alfred's room had been prepared days ago. He would be staying here almost alone in the West Wing of the castle. The servants had been removed so their quarters could be used by Lord Ivan's. Ivan liked to have a large area to himself since his servants and guards were trained to ignore... whatever they heard.

Alfred shuddered. Francis had assured him, Lord Ivan's only tortured those who made him angry. If he was pleased with something he could be gentle. The best solution was to be willingly to do anything. Ivan liked innocence, well-toned men. Francis couldn't blame him. He did too as well as anything else that moved.

He'd offered again for what felt like the hundredth time to take Alfred's virginity, claiming that Ivan would be less turned on by a "plucked maiden" as he called it. Alfred said he'd do it only if Francis would pay him "six thousand crowns" for that privilege. Francis has stormed off at that point saying it was Alfred's loss.

A door opened behind him and he turned to see Gilbert behind him and Prince Matthew who he was getting better at noticing. They had him sit down and listen while they droned on and on about various policies. As some point he found himself nodding off. They didn't wake him, but let him sleep. He had a big evening ahead of him.

* * *

><p>His nose twitched. Something smelled fantastic. Drool began to dribble from his mouth and his eyes popped open, looking for the source of that scent.<p>

"Impossible," he said, realizing that Gilbert was before him holding a silver platter. "Is that a... hamburger?"

"Correction an awesome burger made by my awesome self per your description of this wildman's dish," Gilbert said proudly, letting Alfred pick it up. Tears welled in Alfred's eyes. It was so beautiful.

"You really are awesome," he said, taking a bite and then he froze. Why were their carrots and broccoli in it?

"Perfect right?" Gilbert asked, nodding eagerly. He had clearly tried to get it right.

Alfred finished the bite and swallowed saying, "Yup, it's delicious." Kill me now, he thought. The meat was way undercooked, almost dripping with blood and the cheese tasted like cottage.

Gilbert grinned, seemingly relieved.

"How long was I out?" Alfred asked, glancing around. It was mid-evening by the looks of it.

"A few hours, but it's okay. You needed your rest. Lord Ivan is arriving now."

"He's here?!" Alfred said, jumping up.

"Relax, we have enough time to get you ready. Just try to avoid talking at all costs."

"I can do it," Alfred said more to himself than Gilbert, but Gilbert responded anyway, "I hope so. For your sake. Because if we are caught, well the consequences may not be pleasant. Matthew is taking a big risk. I believe he's only now realize just how huge it is and it's making him panicky, but he's already committed to it."

"He's like a ball of worry. He should relax it'll work out or my name isn't Alfred F. Jones! Now where do I go to get ready?"

"First why don't you finish your burger," Gilbert beamed.

Alfred forced a smile and looked at the soppy thing in his hand. "I can do this. I can."

* * *

><p>Behind Lord Ivan followed a hundred man procession of servants and guards, all dressed in red and black coats with golden helms. Most of the soldiers rode on horseback, but Ivan's black warhorse was the largest.<p>

Few of the Ottowans came to see. Most shut their windows. The scanty crowd was mostly men and older boys who kept their eyes down.  
>His smile widened.<p>

Nothing brought Ivan to life like fear and loathing in others. He could feel their hatred for him, yet they bowed their heads and lowered their gaze. Forcing someone to betray their convictions was delightful sensation. A sweet victory over the soul.

People were his toys to dispose of when they bored him. Ivan craved their pain like he craved Vodka. Without a drink of that misery, the emptiness would return. If Ivan was honest, where his heart should have been was an endless chasm, one that needed to be fed or it would devour him. He dare not look into it or he would go insane. Dark things were at the bottom. Demons he had trapped there. Ones that needed to be fed the agony of others.

Ivan had high hope for this land's ever-forgettable lord. Perhaps his torture would feed the pit for a few days. The portrait of Canada's Prince had intrigued Ivan, as well as the rumors. Many said the young prince had once been sat on for an entire meeting by another lord and no one had noticed.

Ivan's suspected this was exaggeration.

Adjusting his beige scarf, his mind teemed with horrific fantasies. Would this Prince grovel like Lithuania's lord? Would he beg and cry for mercy? Ivan hoped so. He giggled at the thought. Prince Mark... or was Marvin... Prince Whatever would not disappoint him.

Ivan touched where his pipe wrench was hidden under his coat. It was his connection to General Winter who could reign ice down on this land if they defied Ivan.

Soon the oaken gates opens and Ivan and his entourage were led inside. He hardly noticed the details, too eager to meet his prey. Too consumed with how this lord would look when was finished. The more gentle the soul, the more cruel they became after.

After dismounting, Ivan and his elite were led through the stone castle to a throne room. The hallway there was lined with Canadian guardsmen in their red mounty outfits. A pathetic attempt to display their strength. He sneered inside. They stood at attentions, swords sheathed at their hips. Their boots seemed stuck to the rose-marble floor for how little they moved.

A show of discipline, he thought with disdain.

The white painted double doors with silvery round handles were opened to reveal a long red carpet that led into the throne room. Pillars lined the way to the dais to the red-cushioned throne where the Prince sat, one leg draped over an armrest of the marble chair. His chin rested on his fisted white-gloved hand. His expression looked bored.

The red coat and gold trestles on either shoulder did not suit the boyish face anymore than did the white pants tucked into black boots. Ivan nearly stopped his stride, struck by how handsome this bewitching young man was. His portrait had not done him justice.

To Ivan's shock, those angelic blue eyes locked onto him. Fierce and determined. Ivan liked it. Such fight in them. He would be so fun to break.

"Introducing Lord Ivan Braginisky, Emperor of the Eastern Empire," said a man to the left of Ivan's new pet. From the way he dressed, Ivan assumed him the Captain of the Guard. Ivan's grinned, feeling how much that man wanted to strangle Ivan.

He quickly focused his gaze back on his sunflower. His hair was a flaxen-wheat color. Naivety and youthful exuberance flowed from the young prince.

And then the brat did the unacceptable.

He stood up and grinned back at Ivan.

A haughty display of teeth that sent coils of hate oozing out of the chasm in Ivan. They curled around him and it took all Ivan's composure not to run over and beat the Prince bloody here and now. How dare he. Did he think Ivan a joke? Someone to be laughed at?

No one was allowed to mock Ivan.

Ivan would rip that haughty smirk. No. Better yet, if the wretch wanted to smile Ivan would carve it into his cheeks. Let him forever remember what his mistake.

Ivan's gripped his light-grey coat in an attempt to hide his shaking hands.

Kill! Maim! Suffer! whispered the monsters in the pit that had once been Ivan's heart. They sang their chants of madness.

Then the Prince did something Ivan didn't expect. He held out a hand, striding toward Ivan, but he missed a step. He fell forward, eyes bulging, arms careening. Ivan could have dodged, step aside and let him bust his nose on the floor. What a hilarious sight that would have been!

That was Ivan's instinct. However, his body went against his own will and, to his shock, he found himself catching the young man who face-planted in his chest. For a moment there was stunned silence and a distant groan from the Captain of the Guard.

Ivan's inner demons went silent, as if they too were at a lost for words.

Ivan stood frozen, holding the Prince against him and the Prince stood equally motionless. While it was only seconds, it felt like a lifetime. He felt the boy's hammering heart, his warm breath.

And suddenly, the emptiness vanished from Ivan and warmth spread through him. What was this feeling? It felt so good. Ivan imagined a field of sunflowers. All the darkness disappeared and he didn't want to let go.

The young Prince struggled in his grip, pushing away. Finally, Ivan released him and the boy backed up, face flushed and breathless. He looked angry and flustered, hair mussed up at the front. Ivan liked that look.

"My apologies, Lord Ivan," the Canadian Prince said with a small bow. That voice sang in Ivan's ears, beautiful as a nightingale. This young man would indeed surpass Lithuania. "I welcome you to Toronto."

There was a small groan from the back. Ivan tilted his head.

_Isn't this city called Ottowa?_

Ivan saw the Prince in a new light, one that sent his hatred slithering back into the abyss in defeat. The boy had not been mocking Ivan. The Prince had grinned because he was too stupid to know better.

Ivan was so happy and relieved to realize the Prince was a moron.

Such joys he planned for the little prince. And who knew, maybe he would take this one back to Russia.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Pleasant Dreams

(T rating)

* * *

><p>Alfred sat opposite Ivan, the two facing each other from across a long, oak dining table. He wished they were further apart. Those violet eyes disturbed him.<p>

From the moment he had met Ivan he had been struck by three things: first that the man was tall, second that he was incredibly good-looking, and third his eyes were empty.

Although Alfred would never admit to fear, he could accept that Ivan creeped him out. Alfred had never seen eyes so dead inside, as if behind those opal irises lay nothing but a bottomless hole.

Had Ivan been born so empty or been made that way?

The Russian's grin appeared painted on more than a work of his muscles in his face. And that constant bout of giggles were eerie. Ivan acted like a creature pretending to be human.

Yet... Alfred's skin flushed when he thought of his accident in the throne room. He told himself it was only embarrassment at such a clumsy mistake. He should have watched his steps and not been so focused on the Russian's features.

But he still felt those strong arms enclosed around him. In Ivan's grip it had felt safe and somehow like no harm could ever touch Alfred there. His mind had filled with images of a snowy forest and distant laughter.

Alfred swallowed hard, heart thumping. He forced the images away, reminding himself this man was dangerous and walking on the edge of insanity. His mere presence made Alfred's skin crawl.

But not his touch? asked a part of Alfred and he shut that thought away.

Alfred needed to be the hero who stood up to this dragon.

Ivan had stared at Alfred the whole time while Lord Francis, seated on Alfred's left, prattled on and on about local politics. Other high-ranking Russian guardsmen were seated on the opposite side of the table.

Alfred finally grew tired of trying to stare down Ivan, which only seemed to make the Lord happier, and focused on remembering his manners. Gilbert stood beside him, correcting Alfred under his breath.

The room they were in was ornate with Canadian Flags hanging from either wall. Russia's flags hung above the oak doors.

Pancakes with maple syrup, Canadian bacon, eggs, bowls of fruit were all laid out across the table. Alfred looked at them longingly because unfortunately for him, Gilbert had made him another one of his "burgers" and was sitting beside him, waiting for him to scarf it down.

Francis kept snickering that American burgers were disgusting and Alfred didn't have the heart to say this was most definitely not an American burger.

He took another bite and began to cram it in there, wanting to get this over with so he could get to the pancakes. He had thought about accidentally dropping it on the floor but Gilbert had assured him he'd instructed the chef on how to make them so they could throw together another in a heartbeat. Sooner or later Alfred would have to talk to Gilbert about this. Just not today.

He was in the middle of swallowing when he felt those damn violet eyes on him again. He met them and again the Russian Lord smiled and giggled. Then he did something that left Alfred flabbergasted.

Ivan picked up an apple and, using a knife, cut off slices, dipping them in and out of his mouth, before slowly drawing them inside with his tongue, never breaking his gaze from Alfred. He even bit down enough to let the juices dribble down over his chin and lick them off. It looked normal and yet so wrong.

Is it a little warm in here? Alfred thought, tugging on his collar a little.

Another bite from his burger acted like a splash of cold water in the face. He finally finished the burger and was moving onto the scrumptious-looking pancakes when he saw Russian again being strange with his food. This time it was a chunk of salami that Russia was sucking on and very slowly biting the end off. His eyes seemed to say, Tonight my little pet. Tonight.

That bastard! Alfred thought with a shiver. Why was it affecting him? He had to take charge of this. If he let Ivan influence him like this, Ivan would have control. He had to meet this challenge head on.

He grabbed a cherry, glaring at the Russian while trying keep Matthew's coy smile up. His glasses slid down his nose, but he pushed them back, putting the cherry in his mouth. I'll show that commie bastard what real seduction is! He batted his eyes rapidly at an increasingly amused Russian.

"What are you doing?" France said with sigh.

Alfred almost gave himself away by throwing the King of France a scowl, but opening his mouth, he held the cherry with his teeth, moved his tongue languidly around it. He gazed at Ivan with half-lidded eyes. Ivan cocked an eyebrow.

Alfred bit down, but his attempt to let the juices drip down his chin backfired as he bit down too hard, causing the juice to squirt out into Francis's eye.

The whole table went silent as everyone stared. Francis blinked, stunned. Lord Ivan broke the quiet, giggling at first, then laughing, and finally clapping and pounding on the table. Others exchanged nervous glances and started laughing along nervously. Alfred glanced over at a murderous-looking Francis who leaned toward him.

In a low voice, he said, "You're about as erotic as a pile of dung, American. If you want to seduce someone, I'll show you how it's done, mon cheri"

Never taking his heated gaze off of Alfred, Francis picked up a banana from the table.

* * *

><p>"Is it hot in here or is that just my awesome self?" Gilbert said, quickly loosening his collar as he hurried out with several other Canadian nobles and Russian guardsmen. All were making a break for their quarters, saying they had something urgent to attend to.<p>

Alfred remained at the table. His face red-hot. Unable to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. Did...did Francis just own me in a game of seduction involving food?

Francis smiled smugly, dropping the banana peel on his plate as he said, "And that, Mon Cheri, is how it's done. Now if you'll excuse me." With that he stood up, blowing a kiss at Alfred before he exited the room.

Alfred followed numbly, still flushed by what he'd seen. Only when Russia slung an arm over his shoulder did he snap out of it. Russia had been waiting just outside the exit and whispered, his cold breath tickling his ear, "A lovely dinner, da? I look forward to dessert."

Oh shit! I forgot about that! Alfred thought, but he smiled timidly and in a squeaky voice said, "Right this way, Lord Ivan. I've prepared... our room for tonight."

He had a plan. A fantastic one or his name wasn't Alfred F. Jones!

* * *

><p>"Excuse me?" Lord Ivan said in a wry voice as they entered their room and Alfred broke from his grip, rushing over to a polished rosewood table that was beside the bed. It had two mustard-yellow cushioned chairs beside it. On top of it was a crystal bottle of vodka with two matching crystal glasses. "You want to challenge me to what?"<p>

"To a drinking game! First one to pass out wins," Alfred said proudly, plumping down the seat. It was softer than expected so he sank into with an 'oof'.

Lord Ivan strolled over, undoing the top three buttons of his coat as he did, revealing a white silk shirt underneath. He seated himself in the other chair and asked in a bemused voice, "You? Want to challenge me? To a game with," he lifted up the topper of the bottle and took a sniff, "vodka? You're either very brave or very stupid, Prince Matthew, da? And what do I get for winning?" He said, flashing that disturbing grin.

"IF you win, you can have me do whatever you want tonight."

"I can have that anyway, da?"

"Yes, but you'll have to the whole coercion thing and that's no fun."

"I beg to differ," Ivan said, leaning forward. His violet twinkling with an evil light in the firelight that was crackling in the hearth at the back of the room.

Freaky~! Alfred thought, changing tactics. "How about because it's different. It's more exciting when you win something. Besides don't tell me the great Russian Lord is afraid I'll win."

Ivan's smile faltered and he snickered, "You?! Beat me. Impossible, da?" He grabbed the vodka bottle and filled both their glasses, shoving one to Alfred as he said, "I'll tell you want my sunflower," Alfred frowned, "If you lose you will do anything and EVERYTHING I ask tonight. Understand?"

"And if I win, you have to do what I want."

"Oh?" Ivan smirked, giggling again. "Now I really look forward to watching you weep."

Alfred barely suppressed his shudder at another of Russian's smiles. He smiled coyly and twiddled his fingers before picking up his glass and clinking it against Ivan's as he said, "Let the games begin."

* * *

><p>It was official. The commie bastard was not human in Alfred's opinion. Is there nothing but Vodka in that man's veins? he lamented in his head for probably the twentieth time. Twelves shots in and the man was still going strong. Luckily he was too drunk now to see through Alfred's ruse. Alfred had only drunk the first two shots. The rest he'd used a slight of hand to pour into the plant that had been carefully stationed between his chair and the wall this morning. Surviving in the wild had taught him a few things.<p>

"Little Sunfrouerrrr," Russian slurred, swaying in his chair. "You strong drink, da?"

"Nyet, nyet," Alfred said, imitating Russia's sway. See he could be a good actor whatever Francis and Matthew thought. "No, you strong! You a beast Ivan! Like a bear!" He chuckled.

"Why...," Ivan trailed off, turning his red and bleary eyes on Alfred. "Why didn't I see it before, da?"

"See what?"

"The sun in you. My little sun," he said. Something entered his eyes. Alfred had seen that look enough times in Francis to know that it mean and he was on his feet and out of Russia's reach before Russia could say, "Nyet!"

"Don't run, pet," Ivan said, leering at Alfred as he stood up. "I'll be gentle. Come here, pet," he said, waving for Alfred to heel. When Alfred stood his ground, using his chair as a shield, Ivan took a step toward him, but the alcohol was finally taking effect. Ivan's eyes rolled up and he fell to his left, landing on the large bed.

"Oh thank God!" Alfred sighed in relief. He could finally get some sleep. He paused, staring down at the passed out Russian. An idea had entered his head. A brilliant one. A smile crept up his face.

* * *

><p>Ivan had not dreamed anything pleasant in decades. He could not remember that time in his life when he had dreamed of happy things.<p>

He believed nothing remained of those days.

That night, however, he had a pleasant dream.

He stood in an endless field sunflowers under a crystal-blue sky. The flowers stretched to the horizon and beside him stood someone. He desperately wanted to turn to his companion who held his hand tightly with their warm one, but he could not. His neck would not obey him.

Ivan knew if he looked the dream would come crashing down.

Let me in, said a voice, an enchanting one that he recognized.

My sunflower, Ivan realized, feeling the warm sunlight on his skin. I've found you.

Suddenly, the hand slipped from his and he turned, wanting to stop his Sunflower from leaving him. He could not, Ivan would not allow it. As he turned the dream shattered and Ivan cried out as he felt tumbling into the chasm. Into the darkness where the gnashing teeth and the horrors of his ruined soul waited.

Sunflower! He cried.

Ivan jerked awake, wishing he was in the dream. His head ached like a bag of bricks had fallen on it. For once Ivan may have drunk too much vodka. He blamed those intoxicating violet eyes with their odd tint of blue. After the fifth shot, Ivan had been too mesmerized by how the soft lips of his pet touched the glass. He kept wondering how that mouth would taste.

Would it be like sunshine?

Ivan frowned, realizing he could not move.

His hand and feet were bound to the bed by a rope. His hands to the head and his feet to the edge of the bed. That wasn't the only odd thing. He was naked and from the feel of the covers on his skin, completely naked. Who had done this? Who had dared?

His eyes went to his side. The Canadian Prince was cuddled up beside him, shirtless and warm like a summer sun. Despite the situation, he did pause to admire the boy's toned shoulders and arms. Matthew keeps himself in that kind of shape? Ivan wondered with delight, then he remembered his situation.

He strained agains the bonds, his anger growing by the second. He was as ready to ravish the boy as much as he was ready to strangle him. "Wake up!" he growled, nudging the boy with his hips.

"Hmmm...," the young Prince muttered, running a warm hand up Ivan's chest. Ivan froze. A certain part of him was getting excited about this situation. Never before had he liked even the slightest the idea of being the one tied up. This realization made him both furious and intrigued. He didn't know if he would whip the boy or take him when he got free or both.

"GET UP!" he snapped and Matthew stirred, his eyes fluttering open. Was it just the early morning light or did his eyes seem a bit more blue than before?

"Something wrong?" Matthew asked, sitting up, his hands leaving Ivan's chest. Ivan missed their loss. The covers fell down enough to reveal that the Prince still had on his white boxers much to Ivan's disappointment.

"What did you do?" Ivan demanded. "Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"Oh, here and there," Matthew said, glancing around. The scarf was on the chair. His coat was beside the bed. The rest he couldn't see. Matthew gave a small smile and said, "You were so wild last night."

"What do you mean?" Ivan said, frowning. Never in his life had he blacked or done things he couldn't remember while drunk. Never since his childhood had anyone dared to do such things to him though.

"Want me to show you what happened?" Matthew asked in a lust-filled voice as he leaned over Ivan's chest, bringing his face within kissing distance. His warmth breathe that spoke of honey and summer breezes tickled Ivan's nose. Once again he felt a stirring down there. He couldn't believe it. What was this? Since when did he enjoy being toyed with? Just who was this Prince of Canada?


	4. Chapter 4a:  The Flavor of Summer

**Chapter 4: The Flavor of Summer**

(Notching it down to Rated M for the next chapter. Sorry guys I had to split this chapter in half. It was too long.)

Alfred had meant only to tease the Russian Prince with a chaste kiss, but when their lips touched something happened. A rush of soothing energy passed into Alfred that shot from his mouth down to his toes, electrifying his whole body. His toes curled from the force of it.

Ivan tasted like a mixture of vodka, mint, and snow. An image of a still lake formed in Alfred's head and he heard a voice calling a name. For the first time in his life, his mind was calm and he felt his wild frontier spirit at peace.

Somewhere deep down he caught that he was about to deepen the kiss, and pulled himself back so fast, he tumbled onto the carpet. Jumping to his feet, he spun around to hide his flushed face.

_ What was that? What the hell was that?_ He thought in a panic. He hadn't expected this feeling. His heart was beating in his chest. _Why do I feel so sad? Is this sorrow?_ he thought, gripping his chest. He almost wanted to cry. To mourn something that had been lost a long time ago. There had been an aching in that kiss as if it spoke of an ancient love. An impossible love.

(o.o)

Ivan stared at Matthew's lean and muscular back. Still stunned by what had passed between them. He had never felt anything like it. Such warmth and happiness had flowed from those lips. His own were still tingling with that heat. His heart had fluttered in his chest and his spirits had soared during that kiss. Images had entered his head in that moment. From a wheat meadow to an eagle flying in a summer sky to a deep forest where somewhere far-off a woman laughed merrily. For the first time in his life, he had been truly happy and now he had to taste it again.

He strained at his bonds, testing them. The Prince had tied them well, but Ivan had more than one trick up his sleeve. He reached into his mind, searching for his pipe. He felt it nearby. Under the bed. Close enough for him to draw in a little of General Winter's magic. Its painful iciness crept out of his heart and into his left hand where he gripped the knot.

Ivan would be free shortly. He only needed to distract the Prince and buy a little time. Then Matthew would be his and he would taste that beautiful flavor of honey and sweet nectars again and again.

(o.o)

"That was a kiss, da?" The Russian Lord said with chuckle, adding emphatically, "Pa-the-tic."

"What do you mean?" Alfred said, rounding on him. How could he say that? _Did he feel nothing_? Alfred wondered, a little hurt it had been only him that felt something.

"I mean you kiss like a dainty maiden," he said. "You're a virgin, da?"

_Bastard_! Alfred thought, having to turn around to once again hide his reddened face, shouting at Ivan, "Am not! I have l-lots tons of experience!"

"Are you blushing?" The Russian snickered. "So you love my lips, da? Soon, comrade, you will love much more of me than that."

"Ugh, as if," Alfred said, furiously wiping the taste off his lips. "You tasted like vodka. Gross."

"And you tasted like honey and nectar. We should kiss again. A real kiss this time, da?" Lord Ivan said. Alfred sneaked a look over his shoulder to see the Russian grinning eerily at him. His violet eyes seemed to say, _We will become one, da?_

_God, I can't do this. I can't_, Alfred thought, his mind racing. He had tied up the Russian hoping to convince him of Alfred's love of kinkiness. Francis had said that was a major turn off to the Russian, but Alfred had screwed it all up. Now the guy was completely aware of Alfred's innocence.

_Wait, I've got him tied to the bed. I'm the one with the power,_ he glanced back to see Ivan leering at him. "Would stop undressing me in your head?" He growled.

"Only if you start undressing yourself, little sunflower." Ivan's answered, giggling again.

Alfred frowned, "Would you stop with the pet name! My name is-," he froze. He'd almost botched the whole thing. This was bad. Even worse, the more he saw of the Russian laying there, naked, the more Alfred's body started to feel warm. Ivan's head was propped against the bed board, his silvery hair messy around his strong-chiseled face, and the bedding was fallen down enough to reveal his scarred, but still very muscular chest and abs. This was very BAD.

Last's night memory popped into his head before he could stop it. How peacefully he'd slept cuddling against Ivan's cool skin. He flushed. _Dammit stop it body!_

"Your name is?" Ivan asked in a bemused voice, adjusting himself.

"Sunflower," Alfred said. The pet names were better. Matthew was too risky. He always forgot to respond to it.

"That's better. So last night. We became one, da?" Ivan repeated. Alfred's face went aflame again. Why couldn't he lie and say yes like he was supposed to? "Why won't you face me? Afraid of me my pet?"

"Afraid of you?" he spluttered, whipping around. Shutting his eyes as he realized, his face was still flushed.

"Oh-ho! You are red like blood. I like that," Ivan said, smirking. "Tell me what did we do? From that face, you can't forget it, da?"

"S-shut up! That's not it," Alfred said, swallowing hard. _Why was this lie so difficult?_ He couldn't say the lie he'd practiced out loud. Not with the Russian staring at him. "In fact, I can't recall it anymore. I was too drunk!"

"Hmm... perhaps you're body remembers, da?"

A dark look of triumph crossed Ivan's features. _What is he hiding?_ Alfred wondered. Why could he stand up to bears, buffalos, certain death, but when it came to bodily functions and ghosts, he became such a wuss. Come to think of it, lots of Americans were that way. Except for the ghost thing, that was all Alfred's problem.

"Untie me pet," Ivan said. "While I'm still willing to forgive you."

"Let's have a new challenge."

"No," Ivan stated. His expression dark, "You will not put this off any longer, my flower."

"Put off what, master?" Alfred asked mockingly, coming in closer, knowing it was dangerous to tease the Russian. He couldn't help himself. Alfred had a way of pushing people's buttons. Of pushing the limits of people and things. It was his nature.

"I want you now," Ivan said, a warning in his tone.

"Well, I'm not the one tie-," Alfred yelped as the rope around Ivan's left hand shattered into icy fragments and the Russian's hang swung out to grab him by his hair. He almost succeeded, if not for Alfred's quick reactions. He dodged out of reach nimbly, feeling the Russian's fingernails rake down his shoulder, drawing welts of blood.

"How did you...," he trailed, realizing the Russian had sorcery. Nobody told him that. He'd heard rumors about him using General Winter's magic to curse lands with winter, but this...

Ivan's grin became psychotic as he licked Alfred's blood off his fingernails one by one. "Pet, you dare defy me? I'll have to punish you, da?"

Panic seized Alfred. He'd messed up everything. Never breaking eye contact, he watched the Russian reach for the other binding. Out of plans, he said, "You'll have to catch me first," and he ran from the room, grabbing his pile of clothes as he went.

Hopping from foot to foot on the cold flagstone as he stuffed himself into last night's clothes. He didn't bother buttoning the red coat or with the shoes. He ran barefooted from the Russian that had provoked unknown sensations in Alfred's heart.

(o.o)

Ivan was fully untied and dressed now, the pipe safely tucked into his belt. His brown coat and beige scarf were on. He couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. That beautiful moron had run out of the room, wanting to play _Hide and Seek?_

_ "_Olly Olly oxen free," he called, not even disguising his approach. His pet had nowhere to run after all. This was silly.

_ What is he ten?_ Ivan wondered, but then he remembered how embarrassed the boy had been trying to talk about sex. It was then that he realized the boy's plan and why he'd tied up Ivan. He'd also realized the boy was indeed a virgin. Innocent to anything sexual.

Ivan squeezed his hands into fist, trying to calm his urges down. He wanted that young man very badly now. Such a beauty yet still so innocent was unheard of in this day and age. Ivan would be his first and maybe even his only if he decided to drag the boy back with him to Russia.

First, before he had him, he would have to find him and that annoyed Ivan deeply. He would punish the boy severely for this. These games were becoming less and less amusing.

He left the room. The right led down several flights of stairs and out of the West Wing. His guards were watching all the exits. If the boy had any brains he was aware of that, which meant he went left. The only way was left and up.

There was no escape. Not from Ivan. Not ever.

(o.o)

Alfred searched through every room, but all were sparse with no real place to hide. Why hadn't he realized this about the West Wing? He should have checked the rooms more carefully, but he'd been so busy with training those days.

He heard footsteps coming and threw a frightened look over his shoulder. Why did the Russian terrify him so? To others that might appear a dumb question with an obvious answer, but not when it pertained to Alfred. Alfred had grown up in the wild country where few but its harsh-warlike people could survive. He had faced death and worse many times.

None of those things had scared him. Not nobles. Not even ghosts scared him like the Russian frightened him. None of those things made his heart race like the Russian did. None of those things reduced him to feeling like a little child like Ivan did. He had to escape. He was on the edge of panic wanting to get away. He'd never anticipated this.

He crept up the stairs of the tower, trying to hide his sound. The Russian wasn't bothering hiding his. If he found Alfred, what would happen? Would he hurt Alfred? Why was Alfred, the hero, so afraid to find out? Was it the prospect of sex with the man that was scaring him? Or the idea of being consumed by passion?

_Now that I think about it, I have always run from physical intimacy_, he realized. But then he was brought up by a Puritan tribe. Letting his heel roll onto his toes, he crept up the stairs, seeking refuge in the tower, knowing deep down there was no escape. But he was American and he couldn't help but be optimistic in the face of impossible odds.

(o.o)

The Canadian Prince was surprisingly quiet, but that was okay because Russian didn't need to hear him to find him. He reached into his coat and gripped the cold steel pipe, he could feel the boy climbing the tower. The stupid boy had touched the pipe and now was marked by its magic.

It urged him up the stairs toward his prey. There was no escape now. _No more games_,_ my darling_, he thought, gripping the pipe as he followed him up.

(o.o)

Alfred heard him mount the first steps of the tower and his eyes widened in shock. _How does he know?_ _Is he a dog or something? _Alfred thought. _You're being paid for this. Just go down and accept it. Face it like a hero_, Alfred ordered himself, but he couldn't. It was more than just the fear. That Russian made him feel different. All sorts of urges and emotions Alfred wasn't used to.

_Stupid can do spirit. Won't let me give up hope_, he muttered in his head. At the top of the tower was a large oak door. For a moment he panicked when he saw the keyhole, wonder if it was locked, but thankfully it was open.

It squealed a little on its hinges and he very slowly opened it, slipping in through the opening and then shutting the door. He looked around, but there was no way to lock it without the key. The skeleton key unfortunately had been handed over to Ivan.

_Why didn't I think to grab it before I ran?_ He wondered. The room was a perfect circle and empty. He heard the scrape of a boot on the stairs and winced. His heart thudding in his chest. There were three windows in this with arched tops.

He ran over to the center one and looked out, a chilly gust slapping his cheeks. He was high up and could see down over Canada's capitol. The sky was silver and the air was cold. A few birds flew by and he envied them.

Alfred glanced below seeing very little movement in the courtyard, but a very long fall. There was a stone outcropping a couple feet below the window. He had an idea. One even he would admit was stupid, but he just couldn't stop himself.

As long as there was somewhere to run, a hope for escape, he would seek it.

He lifted himself onto the stone window ledge and carefully, let his feet down onto the outcropping that barely held half of his foot. He just had time to see the door open before he ducked down, clinging to the bottom corner of the ledge.

Alfred's heart was pounding in his chest and he didn't dare look down. It didn't help that a pigeon had decided to join him on the outcrop and poke at his hand with his beak like he was some kind of food.

_Shoo!_ he mentally yelled at it, but the bird tilted its head as if amused and kept pecking at his hand, drawing little spots of blood. _What are you Russian?_ He thought in annoyance. His ears straining to hear if the Russian was gone.

He heard no noise for a few moments and then he heard feet shuffle across the floor and the door shut. Alfred sighed in relief. The Russian would be searching for him all day.

Alfred waved away the bird away and tried to adjust his grip to pull himself up, but he misjudged his balanced and found himself swaying.

_Oh shit!_ he thought, grabbing for the window sill as he started to fall. A strong, gloved hand shot out of it and snatched his wrist, pulling him forward.

Alfred stared into amethyst eye blackened with rage before he was grabbed by the scruff and yanked inside. He landed on his side, before he could get up, his wrist were pinned behind his back with a brutal jerk. Alfred cried out in pain as he was shoved onto his stomach, an uneven flagstone digging in.

Ivan sat on his back, straddling his hips.

"God, you're heavy," Alfred said, but it ticked off the Russian further, who yanked on his arms again.

"You're beyond stupid, da?" Ivan growled. "Why did you run and almost kill yourself? Are you so afraid?" Alfred kept quiet knowing there was no answer he could give that would please the Russian. He barely understood it himself. The Russian took one of his fingers and twisted it almost to the point of breaking. "Answer me or I snap it off!"

"Stop! Stop!" Alfred cried, wiggling and struggling to get away. Wild panic was coursing through him. "I don't want to do this! I changed my mind! I'm not ready for this!"

"Ready for what? Sex?" Ivan asked bluntly.

"Y-yes," he said. It was partially true. For all his bravado and confidence it was one of the things he could not face. Though he fully planned to leave out that the idea that SEX with Ivan scared him. There was a strange connection between them.

"You're afraid of sex?" the Russian chuckled and then threw back his head laughing. "I can't believe this. The Canadian Prince fears sex? So then," he said, leaning next to Alfred's ear, he whispered, "You really are a virgin, da?"

"Fuck off!"

"Later, darling. Later after I've had my fun with you."

It was not funny being mocked for his fears. He really wanted to punch the Russian Lord right now.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked, letting his anger fill him. "Everyone's afraid of something. Even you."

"I fear nothing," Ivan said, nuzzling Alfred's nape. Alfred blushed. "By this evening you will fear me more than sex. And you will crave me, da?"

"Enough with the da! What the hell does that mean?" Alfred growled, clinging to his anger. He gasped as the Russian accidentally touched Nantucket while adjusting himself. He froze, trying to hide his reaction.

"Oh, what's this?" Ivan asked, using one hand to pin both of Alfred's wrists. _He's as strong as me_, Alfred thought, shocked to have found anyone who could equal him. He couldn't escape. The Russian had Alfred sandwiched between himself and the cold floor.

With his free hand, Ivan tugged and stroked Nantucket. Alfred shuddered beneath him, waves of heat coursing through his body. He bit hard into his lip, the pain distracting him. He kept his face against the flagstone, but that seemed to annoy the Russian.

"I will see that face, da?" Ivan said, rubbing Nantucket again between his gloved fingers. Ignoring the pleasure of Nantucket was difficult, but possible. Alfred had always been able to do it before but not when Ivan was the one touching it. To keep from crying out, Alfred focused his mind on the discomfort of the flagstone and his injured lip. Ivan seemed to have realized how Alfred was controlling his urges and moved to adjust their position.

The loosening of his pinned wrists was all Alfred needed. He broke his arms free and jerked to his feet so suddenly that the Russian had to jump back or let his nose collide with Alfred's back.

Alfred bound for the closed door, grabbing the handle, he yanked. It was locked.

_ Shit! Shit! Shit!_ Alfred swore in his head.

"Going somewhere, darling?" Ivan asked. Alfred turned around to see Ivan leaning against the window sill with his elbows propped on it. A smug look on his face. "You might want the key. It's in my front pants pockets. You can reach in there, da?"

_Can I break down the door?_ Alfred though, panicking.

"Just give up already. I'll be gentle for your first time. Punishment for your little games will be for later. Or maybe none at all if you really please me."

Alfred said nothing, but slid onto his knees. He was trapped. _ Relax Alfred. You'll be rewarded for this_, he told himself. _I'll still be myself, won't I?_ He thought as Ivan came over. A moment later, strong arms encircled Alfred's waist and lifted him to his feet.

_ (End of Chapter 4a Sorry this chapter had to be broken up. It ended up being longer than I expected. It's a little rated M, but part 2 will definitely have it.)_


	5. Chapter 5: The Flavor of Summer part 2

_**Chapter 4 b**_

_**(**__Things get sizzling~! I'm touched by all the commenters who are so attached to Alfred that they want him to keep escaping. Don't worry I love Alfred too! He won't be broken. Unlike Ivan, he'll find a silver lining to anything. ^_^ ) _

(o.o)

"Do you think he's okay?" The real Prince Matthew asked, staring out of the small, slit window of his hidden room. He could just barely see the crescent moon and a smattering of stars. The door to this room was hidden behind a large tapestry that hung over the left wall of the room where he'd first met Alfred. Long ago, this had been his father, King Arthur's, private getaway.

"Mon cheri, calm down. He'll be fine," Lord Francis said, as he set down another of Arthur's old books on his growing stack. He sat at Arthur's old pine desk. Next to it was Arthur's personal library. Matthew wasn't sure how his father would have felt about Lord Francis pawing through his private collection, but he trusted the Frenchmen who had taken care of him all his life and decided not to stop him. "And please stop pacing like that. Your boots will wear into the stone."

"I shouldn't have done this. I should have just accepted my fate," Matthew said. "He's just a kid."

"He's a full grown man. The same age as you," Lord Francis said, looking up. That thoughtful look in his blue eyes again. Francis had been brooding about something all morning which had Matthew worried. He'd not even hit on Matthew once. Not that he missed that, but it was still so unlike Lord Francis.

"Why did I do this?" He fretted for about the billionth time this morning.

"I don't know, mon cher, but it's too late now. Things must run their course as you say in English. Why do you care so much for this American peasant? He's just a stranger to you?" Francis asked, studying Matthew carefully.

"I don't know. I just feel a connection to him," Matthew said with a shrug. Changing the subject, he asked, "Why are you so interested in my father's old books? They're in English you know. Haven't often told me you despised reading books in English saying it lacked the elegance of French?"

"Oui, Mon cher, but I have little choice right now."

"What are you looking for anyway?" Matthew said, noticing it was another of his father's fairytale books.

"Just something I'm curious about," Francis said, brushing it aside. "You're father always believed in odd things. He didn't want anyone to know, but he thought fairies and magical beings were real."

"Well if magic is possible, then why not magical creatures?"

"If they once existed, they are dead now," Francis said. "He was the only one who still believed they were alive."

"You once told me you and he were enemies, but it sounds like you admired my father."

"Yes and no. It was quite complex. We always fought."

"Over the Americas?"

"Over everything."

"One time we fought over the last piece of cheese at a feast. We even drew swords and had a great fight for it. You father was a clever swordsmen. Skills he developed in his pirate days, I imagine."

"You never told me about that," Matthew said, sitting on the nearby sofa. "Who won the cheese?"

"Neither. A mouse stole it."

Matthew laughed, saying, "I wish I could have known him. My father."

"He was very complicated," Francis said, considering something. "Man couldn't hold his liquor at all. One time he ran streaking through his war camp, yelling something about the elves had stolen his boots again."

"I wonder what happened to him. Everyone says he disappeared in the USA, but that's all they know."

"And that's all I know," Francis said, then his stood up suddenly. His expression unreadable. "I have to go."

"W-what? Why? Did I say something?"

"No, no mon ami," he said, walking over and pinching Matthew's cheek. "I've just remembered something and I need to check on it."

"Check on what? D-don't leave me," he pleaded.

"Oh, don't be like that, mon cher. You have your bear and Gilbert," Francis said, clasping Matthew's hand. "I could spare a few moments to keep you warm if yo-."

"Go," Matthew said, leaning away as the Frenchmen puckered up his lips.

"Oh so cold," Francis said, winking at him as he grabbed his things. "I'll be back before you know it." He blew Matthew a kiss and marched up the stairs, disappearing from sight.

"What was that about?" Matthew asked as Kumajaro came over and sat down next to his feet. "At least you're still here. I hope Ivan gets bored soon. I'm tired of being holed up in here."

(o.o)

All Ivan knew in this moment is that he would never get bored of his sunflower. Ever. Matthew was laying on his back with Ivan on top, straddling him. Ivan had his tongue deep in his pet's delicious mouth. The Canadian Prince tasted like honey, strawberries, sweet bread, and so many other summer sensations.

It was all Ivan could do to break away long enough to let the boy breathe. His hands were running through his pet's hair, tickling and teasing that boy's cowlick. This drew moan after moan from the boy who could barely suppress his own desire anymore.

Ivan had removed his gloves and boots already as well as put aside his sunflower's glasses. Ivan's coat lay underneath them and they were in the process of removing the rest of their clothes, slowly. He wanted to savor this moment. This young man.

Again he rubbed that cowlick between his fingers and the boy's face tensed in a pleasured expression, his whole body shuddering under Ivan. His eyes stared up at Ivan with that hint of sky blue. They were so innocent, fearful, and defiant. All at the same time. So enticing beyond words. The Russian Lord had never wanted anything so much in his all his life. He wanted to possess this radiant energy all to himself and allow no one else to touch it.

As he broke their lips, he paused, noticing a tear tracing its way down his sunflower's cheek. Ivan paused, shook briefly out of his pleasured trance. He frowned, disturbed that for the first time ever he was bothered by a toy's feelings.

"Why are you crying?" he asked in a husky voice, picking up the tear with his fingertip, he tasted its saltiness. "There's no need to fear this. Have I not promised to be gentle for your first time?"

"I-It's nothing," Alfred said, trying to turn away, but Ivan cupped his face, kissing him deeply again. His tongue once more exploring that sweet-tasting mouth.

"Relax and enjoy it," Ivan said, snaking a hand under the boy's shirt. The boy shivered as he mapped out his stomach and muscles. He played with Matthew's left nipple. Matthew shut his eyes, his mouth gaping slightly in a silent cry of pleasure.

Ivan smirked. Gripping the boy's shirt, he tore it open, buttons popping off. Matthew's eyes widened and he tried to sit up and look, but Ivan wouldn't let him, instead kissing him again. He let go of his mouth, biting Matthew's lower lip, he drew a little blood.

The Prince yelped, frowning. Ivan smiled as he bent down and lapped at Matthew's chest, kissing his way down. _Why am I being so gentle to this boy I wanted to beat black and blue several moments ago_? He wondered. He'd always prefer agony on his toys' faces, but not this one. He craved the sight of Matthew's ecstasy. All the bitterness, desolation, and hatred in his cold heart had fallen away the moment he'd touched him. Something was glowing inside Ivan's chest and it made him want to keep holding and touching this boy for the rest of time.

His hands went to Matthew's pant buttons and he began undoing them, ordering Matthew to undo his. His sunflower muttered a curse about Ivan's difficult buttons and asked if Ivan's pants were too small for him. Ivan frowned, but let it go as he pulled the boy's pants off and his own followed.

A large tent stood out of the Russian's boxers as did one in Matthew's, but the size different was apparent. "Dear God, what is that?" Matthew gasped in obvious horror. Ivan grinned, as he reached up Matthew's thigh and under his white boxers. He gripped Matthew's hard member, stroking it up and down.

His sunflower's eyes rolled up and he fell back, gasping at a sudden surge of ecstasy. "O-oh, s-stop that," he whispered, but he didn't sound like it meant it at all. His eyes clouded over with pleasure. Ivan kissed the Prince's forehead and bit down on that cowlick. His pet mewled, actually mewled, as if all defiance had been drained out of him. He was too lost in it. In Ivan's kisses and ministrations. Ivan kissed him again. More images came of pastures and warm breezes. Things Ivan had never really known.

He moved his hand faster and Matthew groaned, arching into it. His fingers clutched at Ivan's coat that laid out beneath them, "No more! No more! I can't take this!"

Ivan grinned and whispered in his sunflower's ear as he bit it gently, "Never."

Ivan sat back, letting go of Matthew, a brief look of disappointment flashed over his pet's features, and pulled off his own shirt and the last of Matthew's. Now they were naked, but for their underwear. Ivan tugged Matthew's off and Matthew tried to cover himself in embarrassment.

"A good size," Ivan said, eyeing his pet's manhood.

"Oh, sh-," Matthew began, but clamped his mouth shut at Ivan's expression.

He had been very lenient, but he had limits on how his prize could speak to him. He giggled and lowered himself, kissing his sunflower's shaft. Matthew sucked in air sharply. Again images and sensations ran through Ivan. Feelings of summer and laughter. He tasted honey and nectar. No human could be so delicious. This boy was an angel fallen from the heavens.

His body was too beautiful. Normally, with the exception of the German, Western nobles were a bit on the flabby side. Not fat, but not in shape, but this boy was developed like he hadn't been raised in a soft environment.

_I need to thank that Gilbert fellow for not going lax on him_, Ivan thought, licking Matthew and then sucking on him. He felt the boy's toes curl against his leg. He was so sensitive to Ivan's touch.

He stopped again. More tears were running down the boy's cheeks.

"S-sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I never cry like this," he said, staring to wipe them away with his arm, but Ivan was faster. He was back at the boy's face and snarling his fingers through Matthew's silky hair, he kissed each one away and ran his thumb across the Prince's chin, assuring him, "There is no need for tears. Not this time, da?"

Ivan smirked and pulled off his underwear and judging from the boy's suddenly terrified expression and attempt to climb away, Ivan was quite impressive. Before the boy could get away, Ivan had grabbed him by the ankle, and yanked him back down, turning him once more on his back.

"Try that again and I won't prepare you. Understand?" Matthew nodded, still staring at Ivan's manhood. "Good. Now open your legs."

His sunflower shook his head. Ivan grabbed the boy's shaft and squeezed. Matthew sucked in a breath and Ivan repeated, "Open your legs."

Slowly the boy complied. "Wider," Ivan ordered and he did. "Beautiful," Ivan said, pulling the boy onto his lap. He leaned over and held two fingers toward his pet's mouth expectantly. Matthew stared at them, raising an eyebrow.

"Suck on them," he commanded. Matthew reluctantly did so. Ivan gasped a little, covering it up quickly. He hadn't expected such a sensation from reaching into the boy's mouth but even that electrified him. He took them out and pressed them around his sunflower's hole, lubricating and spreading.

Ivan took himself in his hand and used his pre-cum to prepare Matthew further.

"Stop," Matthew said, looking away. "It's too big."

"Look away again and I'll shove in fast," Ivan warned. Matthew muttered something under his breath that Ivan didn't quite catch, but met Ivan's eyes. Defiant as ever. "I have subjugated almost every lord in the kingdoms and in every one, it fit."

Slowly he pressed against Matthew's entrance, studying that face. Those mystical eyes that regarded him like they knew him. The real Ivan. He didn't like it and when he had pushed halfway in, he shoved it all the way if only to rob that face of that look and paint it with a moment of pain.

Ivan bit his own tongue lightly to keep himself from crying out. The boy would scream his name first, but the sensation that pulsed through him were mind-blowing. _So warm_, he thought, his fingers clenching around the boy's thighs. He paused, letting the boy's body relax around him not for the boy's sake, but for his own. Ivan had only just entered and he felt about to cum.

Ivan bent down, needing the boy to cry out so he could join. He sucked on the boy's throat, kissing up his jawline, nipping at his ear before finally tonguing that cowlick. He started to rock back in forth in the boy. His pet gasped, "Ah!" and the Russian relaxed.

He began to move in and out of his sunflower, moaning with pleasure himself. He couldn't bear not to anymore. _One, two, three_, he tried, counting at first then switching to Russian lullabies, trying to hold himself back. All Ivan wanted to do was pound wildly into him until Matthew cried.

In all these years his problem had been always the opposite. Getting to completion. The Lithuanian Lord had been the only one Ivan had ever climaxed in without the extensive use of torture implements and that had taken an hour of pounding into him while Lithuania's lord sobbed. The others thought Ivan loved sadism out of some sick perversion, but the truth of the matter was he'd punished them because that was the only way he could make himself cum at all. He needed pain for completion.

But not with this boy. He was close. So close. If that boy had even stroke his chest in that moment, Ivan would have lost it and cum. Luckily the boy seemed too lost in Ivan's ministrations on him to do much but buck into his thrusts.

"Faster," the boy pleaded. That was all Ivan needed and he pumped into his angel, grabbing his shaft and stroking it, until his sunflower came in his hand and then Ivan followed. He released, his whole lower body tensing as his orgasm came and he spurted into the boy.

He rode out the last of his seed and then collapsed on top of his sunflower, panting and relaxing against the boy's sweaty body. Removing himself with a wet squelch, he rolled beside the young man on his coat.

Matthew reached over, dragging his pants and shirt over to act as a pillow. He tried to get up, but Ivan pulled him down, refusing to let the Canadian Prince leave his side. Ivan moved his head onto the "pillow", facing the boy's strange multi-colored eyes. He said, "We are one, da? You are mine. Now and forever."

The boy who still seemed lost in a haze of pleasure, snapped out of it at that. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but caught whatever he was about to say. After a pause he said with a shaky laugh, "Whatever you say, Lord Ivan." Then he rolled over, facing away from the Russian.

He nuzzled Matthew's nape, enjoying the smell of oats and meadows. For the first time in his life, the Russian Lord fell into a happy state of dreaming.

(o.o)

Alfred lay there, stunned by what had just transpired. He opened one eye, glancing over at the contented Russian who was already snoozing. _What in the name of_? _Did I just...Did we just?_ His mind and body were still in disagreement over what had happened. Usually when his head started hurting from too much thinking, he'd run laps or do handstands, but no, the Russian wanted them to cuddle.

_Bastard_, he thought. His ass ached. If he was going to have to do this again, he'd have to convince the Russian to let him be on top. Equal sharing and all that shit. Scarier yet, he'd enjoyed some of it. _A little_, he lied to himself, trying to blank out the sounds he had made and the way his body as twitched and squirmed under the Russian's attention. And what the hell was with his stupid lock? He'd always known it to be sensitive area, but under the Russian's touch it had been positively erotic.

_Well, on the bright side. I'm not a virgin anymore so Francis can shut up about taking it_, he thought, nodding. _I'd always expected to be deflowered by a woman, but I guess this counts. Now I'm grown up so Gilbert can stop calling me a kid._

Still he couldn't shake the sadness that flowed into him from the Russian. Ivan's cool skin felt nice. Peaceful and pleasant. Yet beyond that, there was a sorrow in him that threatened to quench the raging fires of Alfred's heart and that scared Alfred. He wanted to inch away from Ivan and yet he was drawn to him. He cursed his body, wishing it'd make up its mind on what exactly it wanted.

The calming effect of the Russian was reaching Alfred who grew sleepy and in his drowsy haze, odd thoughts entered his mind, _I cannot give up my freedom. My spirit will not be bound by limits. If I let these feelings overwhelm me and we fall in love. Both our hearts will one day break. _These thought he wasn't sure were entirely his own.

Alfred faded into sleep. At some point, strong arms lifted him and carried him bridal-style somewhere, but he didn't stir. He was deep in a dream of a snowy forest where a silvery-haired boy cried and a far-off voice called, "Vanya...Vanya." Somehow Alfred felt such grief for the child and wanted to hug him. To be this boy's hero, but he was as powerless to change things as the boy.

(o.o)

"No, not my burger!" Alfred cried, sitting up. He'd been dreaming about burgers and something before that, but he couldn't quite recall the prior dream other than it had been sad.

He glanced around. He was bundled in bed. Alone. His clothes were neatly folded and were on one of the chairs by the rosewood table. _Did Ivan carry me down?_ He wondered, scowling as his cheeks warmed.

_Dammit body! Stop that!_ He growled in his head. He hit the left side of his head. Too hard and regretted it. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing the now hurt side, sure he'd have a bruise.

Hugging himself for warmth, he got out of bed and hurried into his clothes. Outside the sun was setting. He had slept all evening. Which meant he'd be wide awake tonight. _Ivan will probably keep up all night anyway_, he thought with a grumble, trying to form another plan, but he was too hungry and groggy still.

He noticed a silver platter with a lid was on the table. Leaning close, he smiled, smelling food. The servants had brought lunch. There was a note beside it with very fancy, curvy writing. Picking it up, he read it slowly, sounding out each letter:

_Dear Prince Matthew,_

_ I made your favorite,_

_ Your loyal servant,_

_ Gilbert_

"No," Alfred said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. The blood drained from his face. "It can't be."

With a shaky hand, he pulled off the lid. It was. A Gilbert-made burger. Alfred opened his mouth and wailed in horror.

(o.o)

Matthew looked up from his writing toward his secret room's tiny slitted window, sure he'd heard a far-off cry. It had sounded in such pain. _Alfred?_ He wondered.

"What terrible torture is Ivan doing to you?" He asked with a shiver.

(End of Chapter 4b. I hope you enjoyed. I've never written a love scene before, but I tried my best. Stay tuned for more.)


	6. Chapter 6: Hamburgers are Evil!

**Chapter 5: Hamburgers Are Evil!**

(A very light fluffy chapter that introduces new faces. A little plot is thrown in at the end. Enjoy!)

"Are you done crying?" Eduard asked, patting his much shorter friend, Raivis, on the back. Both were blond, but Eduard's hair was much darker and wasn't curly like Raivis'. Eduard also had green eyes and wore glasses in contrast to Raivis' violet eyes.

"I-I can't help it," Raivis sniffled, furiously wiping the tears off his cheeks. They had taken off their helmets for a moment to enjoy a fresh breeze. Those things were heavy and stuffy. "I just get homesick."

"I don't get it. Why did they make a crybaby like you a part of Master Ivan's elite guard?"

"Y-You think it was a mistake too?" Raivis said, tears welling in his eyes. The bawling started anew.

Eduard sighed, rolling his eyes, he tried to get him to stop, saying, "What if Master Ivan comes back and see this! Please stop! I didn't say you weren't worthy. Of course, you're worthy! You come from the great nation of... of..."

"Lativa!"

"Yes, that's the one! So impressive the power of its name rendered me temporarily unable to recall it."

"R-really? Do you mean it? Is my nation really that impressive?" Raivis asked, perking up.

"Of course," Eduard lied.

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear someone say that. I," He glanced around for Ivan, "didn't want to join at all. Master Ivan made me."

"How come?" Eduard asked, curious.

"I was able to drink on par with him. He thought that was i-impressive. Foolish me, I got carried away and before I knew it he said I was a part of his guard."

"Really? He appointed you while drunk off his ass?"

"Y-yes. That was not what I wanted, but once Master Ivan says you do something you do it. So I said good-bye to my family and everything. I just want to go home! I'm not meant for this!"

"Would you keep it down? What if Master Ivan hears you!" Eduard hissed. "We're supposed to be guarding the main entrance of the West Wing!"

"We're on the night duty! That's how little they trust us!" Raivis said again, tears re-forming in his eyes. "I could have been a poet, but nooo."

They heard the scuffle of boots above the stairs and froze, looking up toward the top, spears went to ready and helmets went back on. They waited. And waited. And waited

"I-is it Master Ivan?" Raivis whispered, trembling. "H-he's sure taking his time."

"Obviously not. He left earlier," Eduard said, pushing up his glasses that had slipped to the bridge of his nose.

"T-then who is it?"

Eduard opened his mouth to answer, but a young man appeared at the top of the flight of stairs, holding himself against the wall. He had on a coat that was buttoned up to all but the last three, revealing the hint of a bare chest. He wore white pants and black boots and his own set of glasses. He stared at them and mumbled something while holding his stomach.

"W-what did he say?"

"If I di-." The man tried to take the first step, but missed it and fell -_thump-thump-thump_ down the stairs, landing at the foot.

"Ow," Raivis said for him.

Amazingly his glasses survived and remained on his face. _That's one tough pair of lenses_, Eduard thought with envy.

"O-oh no! It's that the Canadian Prince. Lord...Lord Mitch?" Raivis stammered. Before he finished, Eduard, laying his spear down, hurried over and knelt beside the young lord, holding up his head.

"Master Ivan is going to kill us," he stated.

"W-what do we do?" Raivis said, terrified, and bouncing from foot to foot. "I-I don't want to die. Is he dead?"

Eduard held the Prince's lips to his ears and, feeling his breathe, called back, "No, he's alive. Prince Mike is breathing! But his face is so green and sweaty!"

"I-is he sick?"

Suddenly the Canadian Lord's eyes open and he grabbed Eduard's breast plate, dragging him close and gasped, "G-gilbert's b-burge-," he was cut short by the vomit that spilled out of his mouth and onto Eduard's new, gold plated armor leggings. Then he passed out, slumping in Eduard's arms.

"E-ew," Raivis said for Eduard.

Eduard just gaped at the green mess he was now kneeling in.

"W-what did he say? D-did Master Ivan do this to him? Poor guy," Raivis said, when Eduard didn't respond but continued to gaze in shock at his knees, he asked, "Eduard?"

"My leggings," Eduard said, mournfully. Shaking himself out of it he said, "He mentioned something about that Prussian fellow and a burga whatever that is."

"W-what do we do?"

"I don't know. Get the Prussian fellow I guess and have him take care of the Prince."

"B-but we're not s-supposed to leave our post," Raivis said, quivering.

"We're supposed to be watching for the Prince and the Prince is here. He's not going anywhere so go get the Prussian! Now Raivis!"

Raivis took off with a squeak, while Eduard lifted himself out of the mess.

(o.o)

"You did the right thing fetching the awesome me," Gilbert said strolling over to Alfred. The taller guard was sitting three steps up from Alfred. His leggings were off and he was wiping them with a rag. Gilbert winced at the smell coming off of the taller one. _What did he step in? _He wondered. Alfred had a towel folded behind his head as a makeshift pillow. He was laid out near the corner of the bottom of the stairs with a wooden bucket beside him that smelled equally foul.

"Prince Mattie~!" Gilbert said, falling beside him. "Oh what has that bastard done to you? Look at all these bruises and your face, what's with this one?" Alfred had a big purple one on his the side of his face, around the temple. "Just awful. That slavic bastard!"

"Ahem," the taller one said. "I'd be careful he's been puking up his guts for the past hour. He must have eaten something quite awful because it looks like food poisoning."

Gilbert held Alfred out at arm's length as he continued, "That's impossible, unless..." Gilbert trailed off, gripped by a powerful rage in his chest. _That bastard! _He made Gilbert so angry he could cough up blood! _He fed you something awful didn't he? No doubt one of those terrible Russian dishes. My awesome burger never made it to you, did it?_ _Well I'll fix that and your stomach._

"It's going to be okay. I'm here now," Gilbert said, hooking Alfred's arm over his shoulder, he lifted him up.

"I wouldn't do that," that annoying taller one said. "He needs to rest."

"He needs," Gilbert said, starting to carry Alfred away, "One of my fantastic stomach remedies. I'm taking him to the kitchen!" At those words, Alfred's eyes shot open and upon seeing Gilbert, he started to struggle to get away.

"L-let m-," he began, but another spasm hit Alfred and Gilbert saw that he was about to vomit again and ducked out of Alfred's arm. At the sudden loss of his support, Alfred went tumbling onto to his side and banged his head against the torch holder on the wall as he fell, denting the iron.

"Oh no, your majesty," Gilbert said, sympathetically dropping beside him, staying clear of Alfred's mouth. Alfred was again unconscious.

"You dropped him," the taller one stated, shocked.

"No, I didn't," Gilbert huffed. _How dare he suggest such a thing!_ "Do you really think that my awesome self would let my Prince spill onto the ground like that?"

"I do now."

"As if! I simply let the floor catch him."

"You what?" Eduard said, staring at him flatly. That little Raivis fellow looked equally baffled.

"Oh, silly one, you should have your ears checked," Gilbert laughed heartily. "I only released him because I knew the soft floor was there to catch him."

"Soft floor?" the taller one gaped. "What about this floor is soft? It's granite!" He said, tapping his boot on it for emphasis.

"Granite is very soft, see?" Gilbert said, stamping on it as if that proved anything. "And my Lord has plenty of hair on his head to cushion his head as the floor gently received him."

"You're," the taller one began, pausing for emphasis, "a moron."

"What was that?" Gilbert snapped, stepping forward his hand going to his hilt. The Taller one readied his spear and the little one, Raivis, stood there gripping his own like it was a shield as he quivered. "That's awesome moron to you, buddy."

"Will you both shut up! My head is pounding," Alfred growled, awake again. "Oh, my stomach."

"I'd love to teach you slavic brutes a lesson, but as you can see my lord here needs help," the Prussian said, releasing his hilt as he hoisted up a still very dazed Alfred and once more slung his arm over Gilbert's shoulder. Alfred clutched at his even more banged up head. "There, there, that bastard can't hurt you right now."

"H-he's not supposed to leave," Raivis peeped.

"You want him to vomit up his guts and die? Then you can explain to that Russian jerk how you let him die!" Gilbert called over his shoulder. The taller one regarded him silently, but the little one paled. Gilbert grinned. _Take that guards of that bastard!_

As he led Alfred, Alfred several times tried to say something, but was too sweaty and fevered. Gilbert could tell Alfred was delusional from his illness because several times he tried to say something along the lines of, "_Never again. No more Gilbert burgers_," which was just silly because a sane Alfred would never say such a thing. Gilbert's burgers were awesome!

(o.o)

Alfred sat on a stool in the kitchen in front of one of its four wooden counter tops, gaping in horror at the bubbling, green ooze in a cup before him.

"What is this? Raw sewage?" Alfred asked, still feeling bad from having eaten half of Gilbert's last burger. Was it just him or were they getting worse?

"Of course not! I only serve awesome raw sewage!"

Alfred paled further.

"Kidding, kidding," the Prussian chuckled. "Seriously, it's just an old Prussian stomach remedy that will cure whatever ails you. Try it."

"I just remembered. I'm allergic to old Prussian stomach cures," Alfred said, pushing it away.

"Good one, but you can't be allergic to awesome things!"

Alfred eyed the concoction and then at an eagerly nodding Gilbert. He sighed, thinking, _C'mon you can do it. A hero never runs from a fight!_ Picking up the wooden cup, he took a sip.

"Drink more than that! Sips are for wimps!"

He gulped it and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worse. He slowly relaxed, realizing it didn't taste half bad. It was like a mixture of vegetable soup and fruits. _So Gilbert can make something right_.

"It's pretty good, What's in it?" he asked, taking another drink.

"Cow piss and fish eggs." Alfred spit it out and rushed for a nearby wooden bucket. He stopped, hearing the Prussian peeling with laughter. Frowning, he stomped back over, his hands ready to punch the guy.

"That wasn't funny."

"Oh man! You should have seen your face," Gilbert said, wiping a tear out of his eye.

"Ass," Alfred said, sitting down.

"Relax, I made it with normal stuff like vegetables, fruits, herbs, and a little French wine for added flavor. All in the proper proportions."

"And this will make my stomach feel better?"

"Every time."

Alfred shrugged and chugged the rest. It was actually quite tasty. After he finished, wiping away the green mustache it had given him, he turned and said to Gilbert, "Now it's your turn."

"For what?"

"To try some of my cooking."

Gilbert suddenly looked worried.

(o.o)

Gilbert was frightened by the greasy mess of bread, meat, and cheese Alfred had placed before him. _There are no vegetables in that. It looks disgusting. Not awesome, not awesome_.

"What is this?" He eyed the American's plate where there were four. There were two more each in their own brown bag. He wanted Gilbert to give one to You-Know-Who. That Alfred had remembered the Canadian Prince at all was impressive. He was curious who the second brown bag was for and assumed it was for Alfred.

"It's a delicious American burger!" Alfred said cheerfully.

"Alfred, you don't have to lie. Your in the company of friends," Gilbert said, Alfred frowned at him.

"Don't down it until you've tried it. I ate your burger."

"I know and it was awesome right?" Gilbert said, taking a bite. He went rigid. Grease dribbled down his chin and he had to fight not to gag. _What was this monstrosity of cheese and grease? _

"Delicious, right?" Alfred said, slapping him on the back. Gilbert almost choked on it. _Not awesome, not awesome_, ran on repeat in his head.

"Not as awesome as mine," Gilbert said as Alfred chomped into one of his own. There was no response. He looked over to see Alfred staring off at nothing, the mouthful still in his mouth. "Um... Alfred? Are you there?" He waved a hand in front of Alfred's eyes. "Hello?"

Alfred's eyes watered up and tears began tracing a course down his cheeks.

"Alfred are you okay?" Gilbert asked in concern. Alfred remained silent like he wasn't hearing him. _Poor bastard. He's probably remembering the trauma of last night with that Russian bastard. That and he's realizing how much more awesome my burgers are. That jackass must have totally denied my last masterpiece from reaching him_.

"Don't worry Alfred. I can ma-" Gilbert was cut off as Alfred began sobbing.

"I just can't believe it," Alfred said, still with food in his mouth.

"You don't have to say it," Gilbert said, patting him on the shoulder. He knew that when men cried you had to give them there space. And clearly, whatever was happening inside Alfred was deep and profound.

(o.o)

_I've done it! I'm a genius. I've made the most incredible, amazing, fantastic burger there ever was! I could die happy right now_, Alfred thought, scrubbing his tears of joy off on his coat sleeve. The Prussian kept saying stuff, but he was listening to him. He was fixed on this delicious taste. A perfect blend of beef and cheese.

_If I could capture one moment and live it again and again it would be this one_. Gilbert was looking at him in concern and he instantly understood that look. _I know man. These burgers rock. You don't want to admit defeat. I got it. Guy's pride and all that._

"It's okay Gilbert. Let's just say nothing about it," Alfred said. Gilbert nodded along sympathetically. _I don't want to rub salt in the wounds by having him say out loud how much better my burgers are then his._

"Sorry for being such a crybaby. I don't know why it keeps happening."

"It's okay. I understand completely."

_Yeah, Gilbert and me we get each other_, Alfred thought with a smile as he devoured the rest of his burgers.

They were only halfway back to the West Wing when they met with a very annoyed looking Lord Ivan. His eyes went to Alfred's arm leaning on Gilbert for support to Gilbert's hand on Alfred's waist helping balance him. He stared daggers at Gilbert who glared right back.

"Where have you been?" Ivan demanded, marching over and yanking Alfred away from Gilbert. "Who said you could leave?"

"I did," Alfred replied, trying to sound a little meek like Matthew would, but it wasn't working. His words had too much steel in them. "I was hungry. It's not like I can run anywhere. We are in my kingdom."

"He didn't feel well. He needed medicine. He has obligations you know, beside being your toy," Gilbert said, practically spitting each word at the Russian with absolute disdain. He looked ready to beat the shit out of Ivan.

"I don't give a shit about his _obligations_," Ivan said, glaring down at Gilbert. "If my sunflower is sick he needs to come to me first."

"Sunflower?" Gilbert said, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Is that a nickname?"

"Wow, boy, I'm so tired," Alfred said, yawning and stretching. "Well, it's been fun Gilbert, but Lord Ivan and I've got to get going!" Alfred said, hooking his arm around Ivan's trying to drag him away. Ivan didn't resist. Alfred paused only to toss a brown bag at Gilbert who caught it, looking up in confusion. Alfred winked and said, "Food for thought."

Gilbert paled.

Ivan let Alfred drag him a few feet and then took over, pulling Alfred toward the West Wing. They passed Eduard and Raivis who stood on either wall at the bottom of the stairs, their spears held in salute. Alfred frowned, studying them as they went by. Both had deeper shadows under their eyes than normal. _Are those black eyes?_ He wondered, but he didn't get more than a glance as Ivan continued pulling him along.

Alfred was growing increasingly worried about Ivan's silent anger. Ivan's grip was tight, almost painful. Alfred really wanted to twist out of it and run, but he knew that would only makes things worse. Still, it wasn't fun being dragged around like this.

When they were in the room, Ivan shut the door and rounded on Alfred, slamming his fists in the door on either side of Alfred. He leaned his face toward Alfred, their noses only an inch apart. Alfred clutched his other brown bag in front of him like a shield.

"Is it so damn hard to write a note?"

"A what?"

"A note! To let someone know where you've gone and when you will be back, da!"

"You're angry because I didn't inform you I was going to the kitchen?" Alfred said, leaving out, _And reading and writing are still difficult for me, but I can't say that because I'm the Prince of Canada!_ "I was little sick at the time."

"Yes, those idiots Eduard and Raivis informed me you had fallen down the stairs looking ill. They dared to summon the Prussian instead of I," he said, _Prussian_ with a disgusted sneer. "Fools! I have punished them for their mistake," Ivan said, giggling.

Alfred shivered, wondering if they really did have black eyes.

"Sunflower, are you hurt?" Ivan said, looking much calmer as he surveyed Alfred's injuries. "These are nasty bruises, da?"

"Eh," Alfred shrugged. "They're already healing. I've never broken a bone in my life." He already noticed earlier that some of his bruises had faded within hours to a dull yellow.

"Da, I was surprised you could even walk after our evening," Ivan said, something else had replaced the anger in his eyes. _Not again_, Alfred mentally groaned as the Russian leaned in closer, kissing his forehead. Alfred could smell vodka, mint, and cinnamon on Ivan's breathe. He wasn't entirely sure why he smelled that way to Alfred, but he did.

"Sorry," Alfred said gently. Not really meaning it, but wanting to soften the Russian up. "I didn't meant to upset you. I just needed help. I wasn't aware at the time who those two guards were getting. Here I made you a burger," he thrust it toward Ivan.

"A what?"

"A burger. It's delicious!"

Ivan took it and tossed it toward the floor, saying, "Thank you. I'll try it later. Right now I'm hungry for something else." His eyes wandered down Alfred's pausing at his nether regions and then returned to Alfred's eyes.

_Damn_, Alfred thought. "I was sick. I'm still not well."

"Da," Ivan said with a dark look, "I do not know what made you so sick, but I will talk to the chef and make sure they never bring such food to you again," Ivan said, running a hand through Alfred's hair. Alfred kept his exterior stern, but inside he was thinking, _OH THANK GOD! YES! _He could do the happy dance at hearing those words. No more Gilbert Burgers ever!

"Yeah, okay," he said, nodding with a bored expression as he bit his lip to hide a grin.

"So you are mostly recovered, da?" Ivan whispered, licking Alfred's ear. Alfred blushed.

"Oh, my back!" he cried, holding it and trying to wiggle out of the Russian's arm. "It's still so sore."

The Russian wasn't having it and pinned his shoulders against the wall and with a wicked gleam said, "Then we will just have to do other things tonight."

Alfred froze, wondering, _What other things?_ Then he realized as the Russian kneeled before him and undid his pants. _Oh, you're shitting me. He's gonna_. _With his mouth? _

Ivan brought out Alfred's already hardening member with cool fingers and stroked on it loving before he began to kiss it and swallow it.

"Ah!" Alfred said, his legs turning to jelly as he gripped the wall for support. This wasn't fair.

"Shh, sunflower," Ivan said, tonguing Alfred's base. He couldn't move. It felt so good . All the while the smell of pine, cinnamon, mint, and snow entered his mind. He was lost to these winter sensations.

(o.o)

"What is that smell?" Matthew said, his nose wrinkling as Gilbert placed a brown back with a grease stain on the bottom in front of him.

"It's called a hamburger," Gilbert said. "Alfred wanted you to have one." Matthew watched in slow horror as Gilbert opened the bag, pulling out a greasy piece of ground meat stuffed between two buns with melted cheese and placed it on the bag.

Matthew stared and asked, "Well, what are you supposed to do with it?" He asked hoping for a different one than Gilbert's reply, "You eat it of course."

"Is it safe?"

"Alfred's many things but he's no killer."

"That's not what I meant."

"It's not as awesome as the ones I make. He couldn't admit this though. That boy lives in denial."

_Same could be said about someone else I know_, Matthew thought, throwing a wry look at his Captain of the Guard.

"You could probably just take a bite and throw the rest away. I won't tell," Gilbert grinned.

"Speaking of Alfred," Matthew began. "So you saw him today? How's he holding up?"

"Oh, he's not doing so well I'm afraid. He was very pale and hacking up his guts when I met him. Ivan must have fed him some awful Russian dish. He seemed traumatized too. I saw him sob in the kitchen today, but he went mute on the subject. Poor guy."

"T-That's awful," Matthew said, wilting a little at hearing this.

"But don't worry he's a strong kid. He can take it," Gilbert said reassuringly.

"Sounds like you and him are becoming friends?" Matthew noted, picking up the burger slowly. He nibbled at it.

"I wouldn't say friends, but we are friendly. He's a nice guy. Really fun. I sense something of myself in him though I'm far more awesome," Gilbert laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "So how's the burger. Not awesome right?"

Matthew chewed on it and then brightened, saying, "No, this is actually pretty decent. Not as good as Francis' cooking, but not half bad. I think Alfred's onto something."

Gilbert gaped, stunned that Matthew could eat the whole thing. The next day, however, Matthew woke up vomiting and gasped, "Hamburgers are evil!"

(o.o)

Far away, that very same morning, France arrived at a small metal shack that was assembled from scrap metal. It had a huge sign, almost as big as itself, that hung a little askew that read: _Welcome to the NATIONALLY-RECOGNIZED Kingdom of Sealand. _

He stared, shaking his head, muttering, "For a guy trying to hide himself he sure stinks at it."

The door to the place didn't even close properly, but he knocked anyway. He heard footsteps run across the floor and the door opened, a very short man with sandy-blonde hair, thick eyebrows that shaded green emerald eyes, opened the door saying with a big grin, "Welcome to the-" he froze mid-sentence staring up into France's blue eyes. The green-eyed man was dressed in blue capris, a white sailor shirt with a blue collar and a matching hat.

"Oh shit!" he gasped, trying to slam the door shut, but Francis caught it and forced it open, knocking the boyish-looking man to the ground. He scooted away as Francis walked toward him, smiling.

"Bonjour!" Francis said, smiling. "It's been a long time, Peter. _Comment allez-vous?"_

"Hey Lord Francis," he said, looking around for an escape route. "What brings you here? Come to recognize my kingdom?"

"You wish," Francis said, his expression darkening, but that grin never left his face as Peter's back reached the wall. "I have something to ask you, Peter. About the night Arthur found Mattie. And this time, I want the truth."

Peter's eyes widened.

(End of Chapter 6. Sorry it didn't have a whole lot of plot development. This was more about character development and humor. Hope you enjoyed. This was a long update so I think the next update might take a week or more. Sorry guys)


	7. Chapter 7: Dangerous Feelings

**Chapter 7: Dangerous Feelings**

(Lots of M Rated stuff)

_Bastards! Bastards! _Gilbert growled in his head. He had totally not taken this too far. After all it had been three days! _Three days!_ he yelled in his head. Three days since he had seen Alfred. It was ridiculous. Alfred was supposed to be his lord. He didn't give a shit about this subjugation crap that Lord of the Jackasses had made up. Gilbert had a right to check up on Alfred and he was going to. Furthermore, Gilbert had a right to deliver Alfred one of his awesome burgers!

That was another grating thing. The servants, under orders from that Russian Bastard, had been refusing to deliver Gilbert's burgers just as the guards had been refusing to admit him to the West Wing. Today he'd finally snapped. When he approached this morning, the two night guards, Raivis and that tall one, had not been there. It had been two other far dumber morons. Two large Russian brutes who spoke a little too gruffly to one very pissed off Prussian.

At that moment, he had decided a "meeting of minds" was in order. Gilbert smirked at the memory.

_Using his uncanny strength, he slammed their helmeted heads into each other. A little trickle of blood came out of one of the guard's nostrils before slumped onto the ground. His buddy followed, falling on top of him._

_ "I'm glad we had this talk," Gilbert said, dusting off his hands. He paused only to pick up the silver tray with a lid from the floor and then stepped over them, mounting the stairs to the West Wing._

_ Nobody messes with a Prussian. Not today. Not ever. _

"S-stop it!" Alfred cried, his voice muffled by the door, the noise broke Gilbert from his reverie. Approaching quietly, he set the tray down beside the oak door of Alfred and that jerk's room. Cupping a hand around his ear, he strained to listen.

"Never," the Russian prick said, giggling. A bed creaked inside and he could hear struggling, following by panting and grunting. A breathe was sharply sucked in.

Gilbert scowled at the door, his hand going to his hilt.

"You lost, da? Surrender," Ivan said in that damn childish voice, punctuating it with another giggle. "Maybe you don't want me to stop, da?"

_What a fucking creepy asshole_, Gilbert thought, gritting his teeth together. Images poured into his head of Alfred being stretched over a rack or branded with a hot iron. Or worse... his cheeks flushed. His grip tightened on the hilt until his knuckles were white. It was taking all his strength not to kick down the door and interrupt.

_Lord Alfred is..._ He stopped the thought, frozen by its implications. _What am I doing? Alfred is not my lord. Matthew is. Alfred is nothing but a peasant_, he thought. Yet he was conflicted. It was so natural to see Alfred as his Prince. Like Alfred was a born leader. A mannerless idiot, but one that drew others to follow.

_I need to be careful. These are dangerous feelings, _Gilbert thought, forcing himself to release his hilt. Not wanting to hear more of Alfred's ordeal or face his own troubled loyalties, Gilbert fled, halting only at the end of the hallway to glare back with ruby eyes and whisper, "Stay strong, my friend. One day, that monster will pay. That I swear." Then he was gone.

(o.o)

"You're face is purple, da? Like an eggplant," The Russian giggled. "Just give in. Pet, accept what you feel."

_Never_, Alfred thought, biting his lip harder until he tasted blood. He would not give Ivan the satisfaction of knowing he had found yet another of Alfred's weaknesses. Tears welled in his eyes as held his breathe tight. He was cracking as the Russian wiggled the torture implement again, brushing it against the balls of his feet and underside of his toes.

"More tears, my pet?" The Russian smiled, seeing Alfred's will breaking.

_No, no, don't give in. Pass out first!_ Alfred pleaded with is mind. His lungs felt afire. As long as he didn't breathe he could stop it! But he was weakening. Alfred was trapped; his hands bound to the bed by a silk rope. He was as naked as the Russian straddling his knees with his bare back to Alfred.

It was coming. _Three...two... one_

Alfred gasped for air, laughing and squirming against the mattress as he tried to get away from the feather that the Russian was tickling him with. "S-stop that!" he pleaded, laughing so hard he started coughing. The Russian was relentless. "Stop it! I'll die!" he wheezed, trying to catch a breathe between his cracking up.

Ivan stopped, looking over his shoulder at him with those violet eyes, tilting his head in thought "You have strange weaknesses, sunflower. Your hair strand. Your ticklish feet. Your obsession with burgers. There are more, da?" His eyes twinkled and he turned around, still resting on Alfred's knees. His eyes went down and suddenly Alfred very much wanted to go back to the tickling of his feet.

"N-no," Alfred pleaded, shaking his head, but it was too late. Ivan brought the feather that had slipped out of one of their pillows earlier and brought it to Alfred's manhood, moving it, teasing Alfred's balls. He twitched, his hips bucking at the sensation. He tried to wriggle away, but Ivan kept his legs pinned down with his weight.

"M-Monster," Alfred managed, trying to keep his face serious, but he kept laughing and squirming. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was there too. "W-What will... it... take for you to... ah...s-top," he panted. Heat was pooling in his groin and his little Alfred was beginning to salute that feather much to his dislike.

Ivan's disturbing smile returned and he regarded Alfred momentarily before laying the feather aside, he said, "Hmmm...what would it take, da?" he purred, laying down on top of Alfred so that his half-hardened member pressed against Alfred's stirring length.

As always Ivan's touch flooded him with those strange scents and sad feelings, but they weren't as overpowering as before. Like the rest of Ivan, he was becoming used to them. _Before long will I want to be one with him?_ This was a thought that kept creeping into his head and it scared him.

_I need to get away from him_, Alfred thought, but when he gazed into those purple eyes, all he wanted was to bask in their strange bond. To lose himself to this passion.

Ivan stared at him with half-lidded eyes and kissed him on the lips. Alfred relaxed; his muscles loosening. _Shit! This guy is like a soothing cup of coffee on a cold winter day!_ A moan escaped his lips as Ivan flesh cooled him like a fresh breeze in a stuffy room. His mouth was beginning to open, to let their tongues meet, when he caught himself.

Jerking away too fast, he banged the back of his head into the bed board, leaving a small crack in it as he yelped, "Wrestling!"

"Sunflower, are you okay?" Ivan asked.

"Wrestling! I want a wrestling match!" Alfred demanded, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head.

Ivan arched an eyebrow, sighing, "Another challenge?"

Alfred swallowed hard and nodded, adding, "Winner takes all!"

"Wrestling, da?" Ivan said, smirking darkly. _Uh-oh_, Alfred thought. "Very well."

_I won't lose this challenge_, Alfred told himself, licking his lips. "Now untie me." At Ivan's expression, he bit back a sigh and said, "Please." Ivan smiled and giggled, sitting back on his haunches to untie Alfred.

"If you lose, you know what comes next, da?" he chuckled as Alfred's first hand came free. His eyes roved over Alfred's body, pausing on his deflating member. Alfred's eye twitched from the force of him not scowling at the Russian Pig. _Stop doing that! _He wanted to shout.

"Of course," Alfred said, adding in his head, _But I won't. You're pretty strong but I've spun buffalos and wrested bears._ _Nobody's ever defeated me in wrestling!_

In these three days, Ivan had not left him alone for more than a few hours. His ass had spent most of it beyond sore. The Russian had not given him much chance to heal, only now was his incredible healing factor catching up. His butt loosening enough to where it didn't hurt so much.

Ivan had taken him so many times, he'd lost count. _Isn't the Russian supposed to be getting bored of me by now?_ He had wondered more than once. But rather than lay there like mud, Alfred found his own body joining in it. Enjoying it. He hated that.

So he had started the challenges, hoping to get out of some of these sex sessions. It had worked some. Yet he had never expected the Russian to be able to equal him. Alfred was so used to dominating games and physical challenges with ease that it was a shock losing. Having a real rival and equal. It was also thrilling.

So far they had battled at arm wrestling (TIE), staring contest (ALFRED LOST IN TWO SECONDS and was promptly ravished and pounded into by the Russian), a stand one leg contest (LOSS, more getting pumped into), tic tac toe (LOSS, still getting taken with a little whipping and spanking thrown in), tag (VICTORY because Alfred was nimble as a monkey! The Russian let him at least have four hours for sleep), and this morning, chess (LOSS because it turned out "chess" wasn't the Russian word for "checkers". This loss had resulted in Alfred tied to a bed, groped, sucked on, and finally tortured with a feather).

_This time, I'll win. It's wrestling and I rock at that!_ After all, he was the hero!

(o.o)

_How did this happen? _ He wondered, glancing around desperately. The wrestling had been a bad, BAD idea. It had resulted in the Russian having Alfred on all fours beneath him with his crotch pressed into Alfred's butt where he could feel Ivan's wet length nudging at his butt cheeks. Alfred couldn't move. Ivan had him in a chokehold. Not only could he equal Alfred's super strength, but he was a more experienced wrestler than Alfred.

"You lose, da? Admit it," Ivan said, but Alfred kept his mouth shut, gasping for air. His eyes widened. Ivan snaked his free over Alfred's bare stomach and under his boxers, Alfred had put those back on though Ivan had insisted on staying naked himself. Gripping Alfred's flaccid member, he stroked it, and took Nantucket in his teeth. Alfred's poor cowlick was pulled on and teased. Alfred's body quaked from the two points of pleasure and he whimpered.

"Admit it," Ivan urged, licking and nuzzling Alfred's nape. Alfred shuddered from the ecstasy.

"Don't," he managed, between his pants. His throat dry. "Don't you have errands?"

"Later, my pet, later," Ivan whispered, tonguing Alfred's ear. Alfred cried out. Ivan chuckled, saying, "Another sensitive spot, da?"

"Ah," Alfred whimpered. The stroking quickened and Ivan pressed his stalk between his butt cheeks more urgently.

"Now, darling," Ivan ordered, squeezing Alfred's member suddenly. Alfred gasped in pain.

"N-no. That's not fair," he pleaded, but Ivan tightened, tickling his Alfred's balls with his middle finger. More laughter racked him despite the pain and he finally gasped, "Okay! I lose!" He hated those two words.

Ivan giggled and bit Alfred's earlobe drawing a yelp before kissing it. Ivan turned his stroking gentle again, lessening his chokehold so that Alfred could bend in his head back. His mouth agape with pleasure.

Suddenly Ivan let go of his little Alfred and stuck two fingers in his mouth. He almost bit down on them in surprise, but let them rove around. Ivan peppered his back with kisses, moaning, "You taste like so good, my beautiful sunflower." He yanked Alfred's boxers down.

Ivan removed his fingers and pressed them in and around Alfred's hole, pincering and rubbing. All Alfred could think was, _Oh please don't put those fingers back in my mouth now that you've put them there._

He didn't understand why he enjoyed this so much. He had never been attracted to men before. Why Ivan? Why did Ivan's touch fill him with such strange sensations? Things that felt almost timeless.

Ivan's hand disappeared, to his secret disappointment, and in the corner of his eye, beyond what his glasses showed, he saw Ivan's blurry hand pull a clear glass bottle out. It was that liquid Ivan used to lubricate himself. He had told Alfred he was the first one beside Lithuania's lord he had ever used it on.

Alfred had been confused at the time, wondering, _Is that supposed to be a compliment?_

"Don't move," Ivan ordered, releasing Alfred from the chokehold as poured it on his hands and lathered his member and Alfred's entrance with its cool, stickiness. _Move? How could I?_ Alfred thought. His body went afire at the sensation as Ivan opened his butt cheeks wide, pushing his shaft in. Alfred's body tightened in anticipation. Even now it still did that.

"Relax, sunflower. Always so eager, da?" Ivan murmured with another giggle.

_Shut it!_ Alfred snapped mentally. HIs fingers fisted on the carpet as Ivan went deeper and deeper, rocking against Alfred. Alfred sucked in sharply, his teeth clenching as it slipped all the way in, filling him entirely.

"Ah, ah," he groaned. Ivan grunted behind him, as he pumped in and out. The sound of _fap, fap, fap_ filled the air as Ivan forced himself into Alfred's core. Ivan moaned and Alfred spared him a glance. His glasses were askew, but he could see Ivan's eyes were shut and his face was painted with pleasure and that ever-creepy smile.

Ivan's fingers dug into Alfred's hips. Alfred shivered from the feel of it, his body finally accepted Ivan's mass. Ivan stopped and Alfred frowned at him and noticed Ivan's face fixed in concentration. His lips were moving. _Is he counting?_ Alfred wondered.

Ivan slammed into Alfred with such force he almost flatted him to the ground. He pulled out completely and did it again.

"Hey man!" Alfred began, but Ivan whammed into him again, his pace going fast. Alfred's body went crazy from the pleasure and he began pressing into it. Ivan pounded into him harder and hard. It took all of Alfred's strength to hold himself up.

"S-sunflower!" Ivan said, going wild. Alfred's lower body tensed, his orgasm close. That made Ivan crazier until he was out of control and it was all Alfred could do to stay on all four.

Images of snowy forest, icy winds, and frozen legs swirled through his head as Ivan drove them both to a mind-blowing climax.

Alfred cried out from the force of it as Ivan erupted inside him.

(o.o)

Ivan smiled at his sleeping pet. _ He's so cute_, he thought, stroking his sunflower's cheek with a gloved hand. His Matthew brushed his hand away and rolled over, snuggling deeper into the covers until his head was halfway under.

Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he reluctantly, got up and headed for the door. Before he could open it, an icy pain clenched his heart and he froze, his eyes going toward the bed. Or more specifically what had rolled under the bed, put there earlier in a throe of passion as he and his pet had been stripping.

His face was expressionless as he walked back over quietly, trying not to stir his pet, and went to the side of the bed with the table. He knelt down and reached into the bed's shadows, finding General Winter.

Ivan shuddered, picking it up. It's iciness crept through his brown gloves, snaking a cold tendril up into his heart. His lips curled up in an insane smile as the power infused him and deadened the happy thoughts.

For a moment, he clenched it tightly, staring at his pet. Thoughts circulating in his head of raping his pet with the pipe. His sunflower's face contorted in agony as he twisted it.

_Kill him_, a voice whispered in his head. A familiar one that he'd heard a long time ago.

He shuddered, not wanting to remember those dark times.

So strong was the urge to watch his Matthew shriek as Ivan tore his fingernails off one by one, that he reached for him with a shaky hand. A little giggle bubbled out of him, but when he touched his pet's cheek, he stopped.

_What is this?_ A new feeling rushed into him. One that was warm and soft and spoke of happiness. Suddenly, he saw his Matthew there. His face peaceful and gentle.

_What did I almost do?_ Ivan wondered, trembling now with fear. Fear that he had not been himself a moment ago. How could he have wanted to hurt his pet?

So many new things were happening. Things that had never occurred before. He'd almost forgotten his pipe. And in these three days, he had slept peacefully next to love, yes that was the word, and had dreamed happily of an endless field of sunflowers.

_I can't go back to the cold. The emptiness. The pain. I need him_, he realized, petting his sunflower's hair. His pet stirred but didn't wake and he stood up, feeling a loss at the touch.

_What are these dangerous feelings?_ Ivan wondered, staring at his hand. Where it had touched Matthew was still warm as if General Winter's magic for once could not so easily steal it.

One thing was clear. He would have to convince the Prince to come with him to Russia. His sunflower would be one with him now and forever.

And Ivan could be very persuasive. He patted the pipe against his other palm as he left.

(End of Chapter 7.

Next up! ** Chapter 8: Betrayal!** Alfred finally starts to accept he may have special feelings for Ivan when Ivan does the unthinkable. Stay tuned!

I got this done quicker because I had more free time over the weekend and I split up the chapter coz it got too long again. The next chapter will also be pretty M rated.)


	8. Chapter 8 : Pet Names

**Chapter 8: Pet Names**

(I did it again. I know I promised the whole Russia doing the unthinkable, but once I started writing Chapter 8, it expanded and got too big (hmm... no pun intended ;D) So I once again cleaved the chapter in two. **Chapter 9:** **The Ghost in the Dark** should hopefully cover that vital plot point. After that, the plot should pick up significantly as we cover what Francis has learned and the fallout from the Russian's actions. )

"Damn him," Alfred grumbled, fluffing a pillow, he set it on his chair and gently eased himself onto it. He winced. "It's gonna hurt all day."

That disastrous wrestling match had left his ass bruised and sore. Even his healing ability would need time.

"Where did that violet-eyed jerk go anyway?" he mumbled. After their "match", he had fallen asleep only to wake from his nap to see the Russian tiptoeing out the door. Ivan had paused only long enough to pick up a silver tray in the hall and mutter something in Russian before carrying it off as he shut the door.

Alfred finally got up when a Russian servant stopped by around noon with lunch and clean clothing for him. This time it was no more of that regal crap, but a flannel shirt, a pair of brown pants, and some woolen boots that kept his feet nice and toasty. And the food was pretty tasty! Meaty soup, bread with butter, and not a green thing to offend the eye!

The downside to all this, was he was awake and bored. If he was actually a Prince, he was sure there would be a lot more to do. He wanted to go explore and visit Gilbert and that Prince guy, but knew that would be risky. Also the subjugation for some reason forbid him leaving. _Possessive much_? he thought.

Fortunately, looking through the drawer's and the Russian's stuff, he found an ink bottle, quill, and several pieces of yellow parchment. Borrowing them and a sheet, he set out to practice his amazing letter-writing skills. Gilbert would be so proud of how much Alfred had learned.

Using the books from the shelf near the fireplace, he had found some of the words he needed and wrote them into his letter. The only flaw with this was some of the books had very odd English. Take this one for example. It was a simple red book titled _El Viejo y El Mar_. Weird English. He kept trying to sound it out, "M-Mar?" but he didn't recognize that word or "veejo". Suddenly, it hit him and he brightened. "More! It's more! God, I'm good!"

Which just so happened to be exactly the word he needed. He quickly jotted it down. Words he couldn't find he spelled using his fantastic American education or just based on their pronunciation. English was a phonetical language after all!

An hour later, he plunked the quill back in the ink pot and held up the piece of parchment proudly.

_Deer Gilbert,_

_ Hola! I'm dueing fine. How was the burgar? Dalishius, right? I bet ... liket it! I no. I gunna meke u mar! My English es gitting so gud! I no! I'm a jeenius! _

_ Your friend,_

_ The More Ausome then u Majisty,_

_ Matthew._

"Perfect! Just how a Canadian Prince would write it!" he declared, beaming at his work. Folding it in half, he placed it between the books paged and snapped it shut, placing it on the table. Next he returned the quill and ink pot to their proper place. Surely the Russian wouldn't mind.

"Now how to get my amazing letter to Gilbert without being offered a burger," he said, planning his latest hair-brained scheme, titled, "Get Past Eduard and that really short guy part 2."

He heard footsteps and shoved the book back on the shelf, hurrying to his seat. Alfred grabbed the chess set that was on the window sill and put it before him, taking a pose of deep concentration.

Ivan entered the room, carrying a heavy, black cloth bag that he set on the bed. Whatever was inside clinked together. "Ah, playing chess, sunflower?"

_Better not be torture implements,_ Alfred thought. He kept his eyes fixed on the chess board and moved a pawn forward.

"Pet," Ivan said, coming over.

"Yes?" he asked, not looking up. He had to stay in the zone.

"You are playing chess, da?"

"What does it look like I'm playing?" he muttered, still angry at Ivan over his sore bum.

"Against who?"

"Myself," he answered.

"So yourself doesn't mind you cheating, da?"

"Cheating?" Alfred said, frowning up at the Russian. "What did I do that was cheating?"

"A pawn cannot move two spaces after its first move. That pawn moved three."

"Son of-," he stopped himself, remembering he had to put some meekness in his act. Not that the Russian had seemed all that suspicious. _He really didn't know the Canadian guy that well_, Alfred thought. "I mean, shucks, really? Thanks for pointing that out," finishing in his head, _asshole_.

Ivan giggled, reaching into that sackcloth bag, he pulled out a vodka bottle and two crystal glasses.

"What's that for? Are you drinking?"

"We're drinking!" Ivan declared. "As I recall, you were good at drinking, da?"

_He's challenging me?_ Alfred wondered as Ivan sat down across from him and set the glasses and vodka down.

Alfred moved the chess board back onto the window sill, wincing at the pain as he sat back down. It didn't hurt as much as before. His body healed really fast which is why he had no scars, but alcohol would surely help numb it.

_I beat him before. I can do it again_, Alfred thought, but before he could reach to scoot the now yellow and desiccant plant between his chair and the wall, the Russian caught it, pulling it toward him.

"Better keep this by my feet. It got a little too intoxicated last time," Ivan said, his smile never wavering as he placed it by his chair.

_Shit!_ Alfred thought, laughing nervously as he tried to think of a way out of this. _I can beat the Russian fair and square, right?_

(o.o)

_Not a chance in hell_, he realized too late. _The room is spinning_, he thought, clutching the arm rests for dear life.

"Five shots, not bad, comrade," Ivan chuckled.

"You know," Alfred slurred, jabbing a finger at the Russian as he steadied himself with the armrest, continuing, "This would be fair if there weren't ten of you!" He laughed and reached for his sixth, but Ivan swiped it, holding it hostage. "Give that back, he's mine!"

"I think you've had enough, comrade."

"But I thought first one to pass out loses! I'm not passed out!"

"I never agreed to that game," Ivan grinned. "The first one drunk loses."

"Wha...!" Alfred said, frowning. "I never agreed to that! We're supposed to be playing like before."

"Nyet, now this is my game, da?"

"Psssha!" Alfred said, clicking his tongues in annoyance. "Like hell," he tried to get up and regretted it. Now the room was swirling. He sank back onto to the cushion, muttering, "I'mma...want...my bomber jacket." It always made him feel safe.

"You're what?"

_Oh shit!_ _Did I say that aloud_? he wondered, covering up quickly with a lie, "My bummer jacket. I wear it when I'm sad. A bummer." Brilliant. He could make for an awesome spy!

"I see," The Russian said, arching an eyebrow. "I hope I never see it, da?"

"Of course not," Alfred muttered, rubbing his temples. "Not with you, Not ever," he added, finishing in his head, _Coz you're a commie and I'm a Canadian. So I can't wear it near you._

"Really?" Ivan said, setting both their drinks down as he leaned forward, an eager light in his eyes. "So I make you happy, da?" He smiled. Actually smiled and it reached his eyes.

Alfred froze, clutching his arms rests. Terrified of that happy face, wondering _What the hell did I say? I mean why does he look like he won a prize or something? _

Alfred groaned, and griped, "My stomach doesn't feel good."

"You aren't as strong as before, da? Why is that?" Ivan mused, smirking.

Alfred shrugged, forcing himself up, he stumbled for the bed, trying to collapse on it and pass out, but Ivan was faster. "Let me sleep. I didn't agree to your rules. You gotta state rules or they don't count!"

"Yes they do," Ivan whispered, his cool breath tickling Alfred's ear. Alfred's face flushed with warmth. He felt so strange. Was something in that vodka? He wouldn't put it past the Russian.

_I want him_, Alfred thought, shaking his head as if he could deny what his body and mind were craving.

"The night is young and cold. Let's move to the fireplace," Ivan said, grabbing a few pillows. Alfred giggled as Ivan held him up with one strong hand on Alfred's upper arm and stuffed pillows into Alfred's arms with the other one.

"We need more of the burning stuff!" Alfred declared, shooting out a hand to grab the vodka, but he misjudged and sent the bottle flying into the wall where it shattered.

"Sunfl-" Ivan said, "Oh, sunflower. There was still a little there." _He sounds really sorry for the vodka_, Alfred thought as they watched it trace a path down the wall to the broken shards on the floor.

"Oops," Alfred chuckled, rocking back and forth on his toes as he hugged the two feather pillows. "Alcohol abuse. Sorry about that."

"What's gotten into you?" Ivan asked, facing Alfred again.

"Nothing yet," Alfred said with a smirk.

"Comrade," Ivan said, realizing what Alfred was suggesting, "You must drink more often, da? I like this you, despite certain things," his eyes flickered toward the shards.

"Shall we?" Alfred asked, nodding toward the fireplace. They carried the covers and pillows there, dropping them on the edge of the ornate, floral carpet, four feet back from the stone fireplace. Alfred plopped down, snuggling under the covers, letting his feet stick out and enjoy the fire's warmth.

Ivan crawled in beside him and for once the Russian didn't have to make the first move. Alfred cuddled up to Ivan himself, enjoying his cool skin.

Violet eyes widened with surprise.

"You're so handsome," Alfred grinned. "And I want ya my vodka-tasting snowflake."

Alfred had to rub his eyes. He couldn't be sure because of the poor lighting, but he wondered, _Did Ivan's cheeks just turn pinker?_

_ "_Snowflake?" Ivan coughed, trying to look stern and upset.

"Ya give me names. So I give you some, my cuddle-bunny of ice," Alfred laughed, his now mostly blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Who said you could do that?"

"Now, now my vodka mint-muffin," Alfred cooed, climbing on top of Ivan, straddling his waist. "You mustn't question your sunflower! Oh, are you blushing?"

"Nyet!" Ivan said, turning his head away. "I can't believe you're acting like this.."

"Awww, are you embarrassed by me my snowflake?" He laughed in a sultry voice, leaning in close.

"I've been too easy on you," Ivan noted, turning his face until he and Alfred's noses were touching.

"Then you have to punish me, da?" Alfred grinned.

"Da," Ivan answered, his smile widening.

(End of Chapter 8.

Sigh. I did it again. I had to break up another chapter because if I did all of Chapter 8 as it was meant to be, that would put it at 4,000 words. I like to keep the releases at 1,500 to 2,000 words. So next chapter. Ivan does the unthinkable. More sexy times too.

This story and plot points are mostly figured out, but a lot I also make on the fly. Like the burger jokes, I keep telling myself no more, just to realize, "oh hey a burger joke would go great in this scene and more Eduard and Raivis stuff". So the chapter summaries once written end up bigger than they were expected and I have to break them up. I figure this is fanfiction after all so I can take my time telling the story.

Also at heart this was a Russian x Ame smut fic, so we must have lots of those scenes even if they are not entirely necessary to the plot. What are we making this thing for if not those :D So please bear with me if plot points take a little longer than they should to reach. I hope you enjoy the humor, the characters, and the smut as much as the story. So see you next time for what's now **Chapter 9:** **The Ghost in the Dark** )


	9. Chapter 9: The Ghost in the Dark

**Chapter 9: The Ghost in the Dark**

(Are you afraid of the dark?)

No one had ever touched Ivan so, not willingly at least. Warm hands ran through his hair, then down massaging the base of his neck, his pet licked his ear, whispering, "Lovely scars."

Ivan grabbed Matthew and pushed him back, staring into those eyes. _Is it a trick of the light or do his eyes seem very blue? The lights too dim..._ His sunflower blinked as Ivan asked in a voice more desperate than he intended, "What did you say?"

"I said your scars are lovely. Battle scars, right? Wish I had a few," They were both naked by this point. Their attempt to get one more blanket had resulted in a trail of clothes leading from the bed to the fireside.

"You're lying," Ivan stated. When Ivan had first seen the Canadian naked, he had been envious of his scarless body and had wondered, _How was that possible?_ The more he had explored, the more he was sure there were none. It sickened him his imperfect body, each scar a reminder of his revolting childhood, yet here was his lover, saying such crap. "They are disgusting."

"Are ya kidding me?" Matthew laughed. "Scars are hot and yours are great! Each has an awesome story, right?" he said, bending down to kiss one on Ivan's shoulder, but Ivan wouldn't let him. He kept his pet's eyes on his, holding his chin.

"Do you mean that?" His heart began to thud. Hope creeping in.

"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't," his sunflower grinned, his voice still slurred from the vodka. As he studied him, he found no lie in those eyes. They were half-lidded and hazy, but they met him and meant it.

Ivan grabbed him in a tight hug, squeezing with all his might, his sunflower struggled against it. Someone had said the words he always wanted to hear. The marks he thought made him a shameful freak were beautiful to another. That made something in his heart shift a little, become lighter.

_I must have him forever_, he thought, already drawing plans for how he would convince the Canadian Prince to merge his kingdom with Russia's. It would take time. But his sunflower would see things his way.

His pet began beating his fist against Ivan's back, rasping, "Ai...air!"

"Oh, sorry," Ivan said, releasing him. Matthew gasped, taking in a breathe.

His pet opened his mouth to talk, but Ivan wouldn't let him. He didn't want to hear his words. He wanted to taste him and savor those delicious flavors. His fingers played through his sunflower's wheat-colored hair, soft and silky.

Maybe it was the vodka, but his sunflower's body was radiating heat like never before. He pulled back, smirking at his pet's fogged up glasses and drew their lips together again, his tongue delving deep into that moist cavern. Ivan was losing himself in these sensations. His heart was melting. Feelings were pouring in that were either long-forgotten or never known.

_What is happening to me?_ He wondered. Suddenly, his sunflower pushed him down onto the carpet, the back of Ivan's head facing the fireplace. A warm hand wrapped around his length and he moaned, no longer caring if he was the dominant one. Letting the pleasure swallow him, he basked in sunflower's heat, wanting to stay in it forever.

.oOo.

Alfred could hardly remember himself. The vodka, the pleasure, and Ivan's touch had sent his senses far away. Now he was swimming in a cool lake on a baking summer day. His body was sweaty and on fire. The only thing that cooled it was the pale Russian beneath him. He groaned, needing more.

He traced his fingers down his snowflake's scars, licking them, drawing deep-throated sounds from _his_ Ivan's chest as he went lower, finally coming to Ivan's engorged member. Alfred stared at it, licking his lips, pondering how to go about this.

"Suck it," Ivan urged, panting. "Your punishment, da."

Those violet eyes fixed on him, waiting eagerly for him to take it, but Alfred had a problem. He was baffled how. Never in his life had he learned how to give head. Sure there were those two times his snowflake had done it to him, but he hadn't been taking notes. Hell if he could remember.

"Now," Ivan commanded. Alfred didn't like being bossed around, but he had already decided to attempt this. _Can't be that hard_, he shrugged, kissing the top, then down the sides, he licked the stalk from base to tip. It tasted salty, but brought more scents and tastes such as ice, lemongrass, something tangy, and more. Ivan shuddered and Alfred opened his mouth, slowly taking it in. When he got halfway down, he stopped. It was too big.

Those eyes looked at him longingly. Alfred loosened his jaw, trying to relax his throat, and pushed down harder - Ivan hissed, wincing in pain.

Alfred removed himself, disappointed at his failure as he wiped off a trail of saliva and pre-cum from his chin. He frowned, facing the bed.

"Something wrong my pet?" Ivan asked. Alfred noticed Ivan massaging his member out of the corner of his eye. _Wasn't my fault, _he grumbled.

"I," he began, frustration in his voice, "I don't know how..." He couldn't finish this. His already warm body was now boiling and he felt dizzier than before.

"How to suck my dick?"

Alfred colored. _Did he have to be so blunt?_

Ivan kissed his back, whispering, "Don't be like that pet. It was your first try, da? Just remember, no teeth. No biting, da?"

"Can't help it. You're..," he cut himself off too embarrassed and annoyed to admit it. "Can't do it."

"Let me pleasure you," Ivan said, trying to tug Alfred down onto the pillows and blankets so he could clamber onto him. "You love it, da?"

"No!" Alfred said fiercely, rounding on Ivan with a predatory look in his eyes. "I'll get this right or my name isn't Al-" _Shit! No more drinking for you! Just spill it all why don't you?_ "All Loving Matthew."

"All... what?"

"You heard me!" Alfred said, grinning inside at his genius cover-up skills. Wanting to distract the Russian, he buried his face in Ivan's blonde forest of pubic hair, taking in his manhood. Round two!

.oOo.

Ivan clucked his teeth in annoyance. He wanted the sizzling mood from earlier, but his stubborn pet was being hard-headed about this. Though Ivan had to admit, his advice to his sunflower was showing, and it was better than the second and disastrous third attempt that had made even the Russian frightened for his manhood.

_"Relax your jaw. No- agh!" He sucked in a sharp breath as teeth clamped too tightly on his prostrate. He didn't want to show it, but he really was worried about his sunflower biting down accidentally._

_His pet had begged for one more attempt. Ivan had sat back and allowed it, swearing that after this he would hump into his pet like there was no tomorrow. Revenge for the nibble._

Fortunately for his pet, something happened. His pet took in all off Ivan, moving himself up and down. Ivan's hips twitched and bucked forward toward the wet friction. Encouraged, Matthew went faster, making Ivan's world spin. "Ah!" he cried, new images and scents flooding his mind. Birds chirping, butterflies fluttering, and the pound of hooves over grass. So many, so different.

His back arched into his darling's hungry mouth. His pet was good. Too good. Ivan's belly knotted with desire, his cock throbbing so hard. _Close, _he thought, scrambling for Russian lullabies, but he was on the brink.

"Enough!" he yelled, grabbing his Sunflower's hair. His pet glanced up with hurt eyes and he realized why. _So cute_, Ivan thought, reassuring him, "No, it was good."

"Uh-huh," His Matthew said, gazing at the floor, clearly not believing him. He giggled at his pet's adorable pout. "So then why did you stop me?"

"Because," Ivan said, falling onto his back, "I want you to ride me."

"How about you ride me?"

Ivan's face froze. His body went rigid at the suggestion. Never had he allowed anyone to enter him and never would he. Dark memories bubbled into his mind and he shoved them away, not wanting to see. To remember his blood-stained past. Still the visions filled him with hate, with blood lust. He wanted to hurt, to strangle.

"Snowflake?" His pet asked nervously. He snapped out of it, seeing the fear in those eyes. Something in his eyes had alarmed his precious lover and his pet said, "I-I'll ride you."

Ivan gripped his pet's member, stroking. His darling's eyes fluttered, but before Ivan could pull his lover onto himself, his pet's eyes flew open and he stood up, saying, "Wait!"

Ivan frowned. He did not like waiting, but his pet was already stumbling toward the bed. Ivan propped himself up on his elbows, wondering, _What is he_... then realized. His sunflower pulled that clear bottle of lubricant out from under the bed.

"We need this!" His Matthew declared, holding it high and taking the topper off, he ran toward Ivan.

"My co-," Ivan tried to warn, but it was too late. The boy stumbled over Ivan's coat, or more specifically the pipe hidden in an inner pocket of his coat, and fell forward, a big splat of lube slopping onto Ivan's face and shoulder.

Time stopped, at least in Ivan's mind. There was his pet, clutching the bottle, frozen in his crouch, gaping at Ivan. There was Ivan, stunned, feeling a cold liquid ooze off his front locks and drip toward his lap.

The boy, not being the wisest of souls, broke the silence first, giggling, then cracking up. He beat at the floor, laughing, "Your face! You should see your face!" The Russian was not amused.

His face went into a wide, childish smile and in a chilly voice that stopped Matthew cold, he said, "Pet, come here." He crooked a finger and bade his rascal Prince forward. Matthew sucked in a breath.

"It was an accident," Matthew said, standing up. "Look, it was this damn pipe," he was only lightly kicking at it, but Russian was on his feet charging at him so fast, the Prince never registered he was coming until he shoved Matthew onto the floor. Somehow his pet didn't drop the lube, but kept it stoppered with his middle finger.

"Hey man," Matthew started, but Ivan overrode him, screaming, "Do not ever touching my _fucking_ pipe!" His mind was blank with rage and his words held murderous intent.

He regretted them instantly as those violet-blue eyes stared up at him very soberly and full of hate. The kind of hate everyone else glared at him with. His pet replied slowly, emphasizing each word, "I will not touch your _fucking_ pipe."

.oOo.

"Pet, do not be upset," Ivan stated, massaging Alfred's back, trying to coax Alfred, but Alfred wasn't having it. He was now very sober and starting to feel hungover. All he could see in his mind was that shove and the Russian lording over him, screaming at him about that creepy ass pipe. _He went too far_, Alfred grumbled.

Alfred was too mad to note the irony of the feared Russian Prince pleading, in his own way, with a peasant. "Mood killer," he muttered, not looking back. Now that he was over most of the vodka-haze, he was still also trying to come to terms with how flirty he had acted toward the Russian. _Was I really that horny?_ He wondered, swearing he'd never touch Vodka again.

"Comrade, this is silly!" Ivan said. "I demand you forgive me and we fuck at once!"

"Demand away. Doesn't mean it will happen," Alfred replied as the Russian inch toward him. Alfred inched away. Two could play at that game. Suddenly, the Russian hooked an arm around Alfred's waist and yanked him against his cool body. Alfred didn't fight, knowing it was futile, but cross his arms, ignoring the hardness against his back.

"Make-up sex is needed," Ivan said, grabbing Alfred's shoulder and pushing him onto his back. Alfred fixed him with a glare.

"You can force me. You have before," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But that doesn't mean I'll forgive you. That's not how it works."

"Why are you so angry about one little shove, sunflower? It was an accident."

Alfred held himself up on his elbows, saying, "Accident? Little shove? What a rosy image you paint of yourself. It ain't about the shove or the shouting. It's about the lack of respect. You say you care for me, then you throw me around like a rag doll when all you had to do was say something."

Ivan giggled. "Respect?" he all but spat. "Respect? Care? When did I ever say such things to you? You're nothing but a toy!"

Alfred expression became darker and Ivan's face became regretful. _Regret on this guy? Must be a trick of the light._

But Ivan spoke again, much softer this time, "I do not know why I say or do such things. Sometimes I am not myself. I reacted without thinking. Can you not understand me, pet? Are you not taking this too far?"

"Am I?" Alfred asked. Ivan moved, sitting on Alfred's waist. Alfred winced a little at the heavy Russian on top of him, but the glare-off continued, neither blinking.

To his shock, the Russian looked away first, saying, "Can we go back to the earlier mood if I apologize?" Ivan's expression was not one of defeat, but of exhaustion. He looked so tired and that moved Alfred more than anything.

That he, Alfred, a lowly wildman from the US, had gotten the great Russian Lord to even offer an apology at all was not something that went entirely over his head. This was quite a victory. Realizing this, he nodded his acceptance. He would forgive the Russian this time. "I suppose I was a bit dramatic."

Ivan relaxed, a more natural smile returning as he stroke Alfred's cheek, saying, "I am sorry for shoving you and saying such harsh things. That pipe like my scarf is very important to me. I treasure them, but I treasure you to. Maybe more. Become one with me, my sunflower."

Alfred went rigid. _What the hell was that? Was that an apology or a twisted attempt at love confession? _ The latter was very bad. The Russian wasn't supposed to fall for him. They were supposed to finish this and go their separate ways. _Why does the idea of never seeing Ivan make my heart twitch a little_? He wondered, but pushed the thought away.

The most important matter was what he had done. His mind was spinning with his worries until the Russian rolled onto his back, dragging Alfred on top of him. Alfred's face was pulled forward and the Russian softly kissed his lips, then his throat, licking his adam's apple, before whispering huskily, "Rive me."

All other thoughts were blown away as Ivan's cool hand settled on Alfred's member, stroking it. His mouth went agape in joy. Alfred saw how Ivan's cock was throbbing, begging for him to mount. Leaning over the Russian, who peppered his throat with more kisses, he grabbed the lube container and poured out a gob. He smiled at the little bit that was still in Ivan's hair.

Lathering Ivan's stalk, which brought more growls and pleasured cries, Alfred leaned back and prepared himself. Positioning himself above his snowflake, he eased himself down. Ivan's fingers clenched against the blanket, his own expression intoxicated with the sensation of Alfred. Alfred enjoyed the power and the feel.

Before he was halfway down, Ivan was thumbing the top of Alfred's member and moving up and down on it faster. Alfred moaned, nearing his own climax. He pumped up and down on the Russian, faster and faster, his whole body tightening in anticipation.

"Snowflake!" he cried out.

.oOo.

For the first time in his life, a truly dangerous thought had entered Ivan's mind: _All I need is my sunflower and nothing else_. The moment he thought it, a sharp icy pain stabbed at his heart. General Winter was not happy, but for the first time, he shut the presence out of his mind. His body was singing like never before and he didn't want it to stop.

All he could see was the lust in his pet's eyes, mirroring his own. All he could feel was the slickness and tightness of his sunflower's entrance around his head as his pet slid up and down on Ivan's cock. It was delicious. His ears were filled with his pet's cries of ecstasy mixed with his own. If Ivan could a moment to keep forever in his heart to relive over and over, it would be this.

The Prince's muscles flexed and moved as he rocked in time to the Russian's thrusts. Ivan's erection jutted proudly into Matthew's heat, pre-cum and lube smeared all over his pet's thighs and hole.

This was heaven, but the Russian was tired of his pet being in charge. As much as he wanted to regain it and tweak his pet's cowlick until he mewled like a proper pet, any break in Ivan's concentration would make him cum. It was taking all his will power to keep from going wild. He wanted this to last. In fact, he didn't want it ever to end.

Alas, the Canadian picked up the pace, slamming down harder and harder on Ivan's dick. It had somehow become an unspoken challenge between the two. Who would cum first?

His sunflower had youth, but Ivan had experience and his lover's cock. He went faster on it, their eyes locked onto each other, heady with lust.

His darling was good, but Ivan won. Matthew's whole lower body tensed and he cried out, coming in Ivan's hand, a little spurted onto Ivan's stomach. The sudden tightening of his lover's entrance sent the Russian over the edge and moments later, he squirted inside his love, bucking into him, he rode out the last of his seed.

His darling collapsed on top of him, going limp. They both lay their, panting, trying to catch their breathes. Finally his darling slid down beside him, Ivan slipping out of him, he kept an arm draped over Ivan's torso and fell asleep.

Not wanting his love to damage his glasses, Ivan slipped them off and put them aside. Then he rolled onto his back and stared at the wooden ceiling, listening to the fire crackle, he bathed in this happiness. As his eyes drifted shut, he felt iciness needling his skin. Someone, and he knew who, was trying to get into him, but he ignored it for now. _General Winter can wait_, he thought, his eyes drifting shut.

.oOo.

_The child was cold and huddled in the snow. His face was buried in his knees where he sobbed with his back against a snow-laden tree. He whispered something too low to be heard above the howling winds. Snowflakes were tangled in his silvery-hair. He had been out here for a while. _

_ A cold voice on the wind, called his name, "Vanya...Vanya...come to me."_

_The boy looked up, violet eyes filled with hate._

Alfred woke with a start, confused where he was at first. It took his mind a moment to remember why he was not on the bed, but the floor. He felt around for his glasses. Everything around him was a blur. All he could see were the dull orange embers glowing in the fireplace.

To his distaste, Ivan's seed had dried on his thighs. He would need to wash later.

_Speaking of snowflake, where is he?_ He wondered just as his hands contacted his glasses. A floorboard creaked behind him and he froze. A chill that made gooseflesh sprout up across his skin rolled over him.

Someone, no something, was near. A very wrong presence. An evil, cold and merciless, that no fire could touch. Alfred's breathe came out in ragged puffs as dread oozed through him, clenching around his heart, paralyzing him. He knew exactly what this was. His worst fear.

_A ghost! A goddam ghost is in the room! _Whatever anyone else said, ghosts were real to Alfred and damn scary. Moving slowly, he slipped his glasses on. Itt took all his will power to do that little action.

Ivan's grin came into focus. He towered over him, naked as before, clutching the steel pipe. But something was different. Ivan's amethyst eyes were as empty as his innocent smile.

"Ivan?" Alfred whispered.

In a flash, the Russian dropped to his knees, slamming the pipe horizontally at Alfred's throat. Alfred's quick reactions and unusual strength were all that saved his windpipe from being crushed. His palms caught the pipe, pushing up, but the Russian was bearing down with all his weight and he had the advantage.

The cold steel was numbing his hands, sapping their strength.

"S-stop it!" Alfred wheezed as the pipe pressed into his throat, choking off his air. Ivan's eyes were dead like a fish eyes, not seeing Alfred at all.

Alfred had been a fool to believe Ivan anything less than a monster.

(**End of chapter 9 **Uh-oh. What has Ivan done and how will Alfred respond? Next time, **Chapter 10: Apology Not Accepted **

Lucky for you readers, Chapter 10 is almost completely written so should be up in a day or two. It's a good thing this story is already worked out in my head. A lot is added as I write but the backbone of the story, beginning - middle- end are already settled. I of course don't own Hetalia or any of the characters. This is a fanfiction only work.

As I said, because it's mostly figured out, I haven't hit writer's block yet *knock on wood* so I can keep a fairly good rate going. With the expanding chapters and all, this might be a 25-30 chapter story. Believe it or not there are a lot more things that have only been hinted at and not revealed.


	10. Chapter 10: Apology Not Accepted

**Chapter 10** **Apology Not Accepted**

(And the plot begins to race...)

Alfred couldn't breathe. In mere seconds he would be too weak to fight back. He had one shot. Ivan's hand was close. With a final sure of energy, he pushed the pipe back enough to clamp his teeth onto Ivan's hand, biting to the bone, blood filled his mouth and numbed his tongue. _Is blood supposed to do that_? he wondered distantly. Body heat was always ambiguous when it came to the Russian.

Ivan didn't cry out, but he did release his pressure on the pipe and back away. Alfred coughed and gasped for air, clambering to his feet. His eyes were watery. Wasting no time, he ripped the pipe away from a very confused Ivan who was blinking at his wounded hand in shock. Some recognition was leaking back into those opal eyes.

"M-Math-," Ivan stuttered out, but Alfred didn't let him finish, gripping the pipe with both hands, he whammed it into the side of Ivan's temple. A normal man would be dead, but Ivan merely collapsed and Alfred stood over him, holding it up, ready to bash his brains in. He wanted to.

_Kill him,_ a voice urged in his head. It wasn't his own and it chilled Alfred to his soul. Iciness crept down his hands from the pipe toward his shoulders and heart.

_We will be one, _the voice murmured. For a moment, Alfred saw nothing but red and he raised the pipe higher for the killing stroke, then Ivan groaned and clutched at his temple, blood was trickling down his cheek and dripping onto the carpet.

Alfred dropped the pipe; it landed with a muffled clatter. He backed away, horrified by what he had done and almost done. Fingers went to the red blood on his lips and chin. Ivan's blood.

_I almost..._, he realized, his eyes flickering from the pipe to Ivan. He swallowed, wincing at the pain, his throat felt like he had gulped down pieces of glass. The sight of the Russian, the pipe, and the feel of his bruised throat all sickened him.

He bolted from the room, never looking back.

.oOo.

"D-do you have a three?" Raivis asked.

"Go fish," Eduard answered. He had only two cards left. Raivis had eight. They were sitting four steps up with their spears beside them.

Raivis sighed, drawing another card, "S-still no pairs? W-why are you so good at this?"

Eduard opened his mouth to reply when they heard the noise of bare feet running toward them. The deck and cards quickly went back into their satchels, but before they could grab their spears and be at attention, a naked man with blonde hair streaked past them, hopping down every two steps.

"Commie...psycho...ghost," he wheezed as he went by, his almost inaudible cries disappeared as he rounded a corner at the end of the dark hall.

Eduard and Raivis exchanged a stunned look and shut their mouths, realizing they were both gaping.

"W-was that Prince M-Murphy?" Raivis asked.

"Er...," Eduard began, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I believe so."

"W-was he...?"

"I'll check on Master Ivan," Eduard sighed, already heading up the stairs with his spear.

"B-but what am I supposed to do?"

"Go find, Prince... Prince Marvin," he said.

"B-bu-."

"Would you rather check on Master Ivan?"

"R-right," Raivis said, hopping to attention, he headed after the Canadian Prince. Sure that even at this hour others would notice the croaking, bare-as-the-day-he-was-born Lord.

.oOo.

Gilbert was a trained warrior like his father and his father before him; he knew the awesome ways. Unnatural sounds woke him. So he was already out of bed and reaching for his sheathed sword where it hung from a hook on the wall, when the sound of those bare feet reached his door.

What he didn't expect was for the person to kick it down. The locks flew across the room and the door landed with a _whump_.

"Christ!" Gilbert said, not sure if he was facing a demon or a man.

The answer of the intruder's identity was quickly revealed when a voice croaked in the loudest it could muster, "Gilbert?"

"Al- your Majesty?" he gaped, grabbing his lantern from its hook, he turned it on, smelling the kerosene light up. "If you wanted a burg...," he trailed off, seeing a stark naked Alfred before him, with a very injured throat. "What the hell happened to you?" _And you can't be better hung than me, no way. Must be a trick of the light_, he thought, gravely annoyed by that and the fact that that was the first thought that popped into his head given the situation.

"I...almost...killed him," Alfred gasped, his face full of despair, he stumbled toward Gilbert's bed where he sat down heavily. He hugged himself for warmth.

Gilbert started to respond, but he heard the footsteps of his awesome guards and ran over to his broken doorway, peaking his head out.

"Sir, wh-," one of his awesome men began, but seeing Gilbert's raised eyebrow quickly changed it to, "Your most awesome sir, what happened?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. Go back and watch the entrance to this hallway. Allow no one to pass," he called. The two solders nodded and headed back.

He turned around to see Alfred wrapping himself in one of Gilbert's woolen blankets, shivering from what appeared to be more than just the cold.

"Tell me everything," he said, grabbing his gear and light armor. Dawn was a mere hour off and it was going to be a long morning.

.oOo.

By the time, Alfred had finished recounting his story, Gilbert had on his brown boots, red pants, white chest plate with the maple leaf on the front, and a black undershirt. Alfred had dressed in one of Gilbert's spare flannel shirts and a pair of loose brown pants. He had no shoes that would fit Alfred. It irked Gilbert that the shirt was tight across Albert's chest. _He can't have a broader chest than the awesome me,_ Gilbert thought.

"That son of a bitch must pay," Gilbert said, making sure his sword and sheath were attached firmly to his belt. "We'd better move and find somewhere to regroup and figure out our next course of action. If he survived like you said," _ And holy shit, that bastard survived a direct blow from Alfred?_ _Are they both superpowers or something?_ Gilbert wondered, continuing, "Than he'll surely come here looking for you."

Alfred nodded, getting up. He wanted a weapon. Gilbert could see that and tossed him his spare dagger with its red sheath. Alfred tucked it into his belt.

"Is your throat feeling better?" Gilbert asked.

"A little," Alfred rasped. "Whatever happens. I'm not going back. Deal or no deal. That creep is a psycho."

"Everyone knew that," Gilbert said. "It's just he's never gone so far against nobility before. He seemed content to humiliate them with subjugation."

"Shows what I get for trusting nobles. I didn't sign u-" Gilbert clamped a hand over Alfred's mouth, giving him a warning look. Booted footsteps were coming and there was only one man that arrogant gait could belong to.

"We have to run," he hissed as they edged to the door. _What happened to my awesome men?_ He wondered, but he could guess. _That asshole better not have killed them_, he thought.

He turned off the lantern, setting it down without a sound. He gripped Alfred's arm to pull him along and counted in his head, _Three...two...one. _

They burst out, ready to run down the opposite hall, but a stuck out foot, sent them to the floor, Gilbert narrowly avoided smashing his nose on the flagstones. Alfred landed on top of him with an "oof".

"Son of...,"Gilbert trailed off, feeling a spear jab into the back of his neck, drawing a welt of blood. Alfred was equally motionless and by the faint starlight leaking out of the his own room, he could see two figures standing over them.

Four Russian guards with torches rushed forward from the left hall, aiming their spears at Alfred and Gilbert as well. He saw who had tripped them. That little frightened mouse, Raivis, had been waiting by the door and done it. _Didn't know the slavic worm had it in him_, Gilbert growled in his head, realizing the bastard had been listening. It was Raivis who now had his spear tip against Alfred's nape, along with two others, and another guardsmen who had drawn Gilbert's blood. Gilbert studied that guard's face. He would remember _him_.

"Going somewhere?" asked a cold voice. Gilbert's hand remained on his hilt as he fixed his red eyes on that bastard. The creep giggled as emerged from the shadows into the torchlight, dressed in his usual brown coat and beige scarf, but there was something far more terrifying in his childish smile than usual. The dried blood caked on the left side of his face only heightened the effect. He looked like a man clinging to his last strands of sanity.

Gilbert personally wished Alfred had killed him. Nobody would have missed Ivan.

"The Prince will come with me, da?" Ivan grinned.

.oOo.

_Something is wrong_, that thought woke Matthew. He felt sick and afraid, but he didn't know why. His polar bear was curled up beside him, it's cold nose pressed into his arm. He stared up at the starlight of his slitted window. The sky was already lightening. Dawn was coming.

As he got out of bed, he heard the iron door to his secret room grate open and saw golden light spilling down from the top of the stairs. Two sets of boots clacked against the steps as their owners came down.

_Only Francis and Gilbert know of this room, which means_,he thought, excited to see Francis again. He slipped on his glasses and threw on his red robe with a hood and the Maple Leaf sewn on the back.

_No twiddling. Stand straight. Act like you own the place_, he went over in his head, trying picture how Alfred had done it so naturally. It bothered him that a simple peasant could attract the attention of so many leaders with such ease. That traits that Matthew had spent his life learning came so naturally to Alfred. It wasn't fair.

He stood in the middle of the room waiting happy to see that the man carrying the lantern was indeed Lord Francis. He didn't wait to see who was the other man, assuming it was Gilbert.

"Francis!" Matthew said, rushing over and hugging him.

"Mon cher!" The French Lord chirped, returning the embrace.

Matthew froze, frowning. He should have known better. "Lord Francis."

"Oui?"

"Please remove your hands from my buttocks."

"Whatever do you mean?" Francis said innocently, squeezing harder. Matthew yelped, jumping away. "Ah, how I missed my little Prince."

"Who is that?" Matthew asked, noticing the other man was not Gilbert. He was too short and his face too boyish. He reminded Matthew of someone. Of a portrait of his father, King Arthur, but how? _Is he a tall midget?_ Matthew wondered, studying the boy's eyes and bushy eyebrows.

The boy-man opened his mouth but Francis started first, clapping the man on the shoulder he said, "This mon cher, is an old acquaintance of your father. His bastard cousin in fact. His name is Peter Kirkland and you know him better than you realize."

Peter scowled at the Frenchman who shot him a look that immediately wilted Peter back into his groveling self.

"P-Pleased to meet you Prince Matthew. My have you grown," he said meekly, bowing, his eyes glancing at Lord Francis occasionally.

"I don't understand. Why did you bring him here?" Matthew asked.

"Don't worry about your secret. Peter would never betray that. Not to help Ivan at least. Right, Peter?"

Peter quickly nodded, mumbling something under his breath. Matthew only caught the words, "scoundrel" and "Frog".

"He bigger secrets to share with you. Don't you, mon ami?" Francis asked, smiling with an evil gleam Matthew had rarely seen in him before. Peter nodded, coming forward.

"What is going on? How do you know me?" Matthew asked.

"Mon cher, you had better sit down for this. You may not like what you hear. It's about your birth and your father," Francis said, urging him toward the floral-patterned sofa, a keepsake of his father's like much in this room from the wooden toy soldiers on the fireplace mantle to the books on the shelf. Matthew let himself be led, nervous about what was going on. Peter followed, standing with his back to the warmth of the fireplace, facing them. Something about this felt wrong. Like Matthew was about to learn something he would rather not know.

He only realized after he sat down that he was not on the sofa, but the Frenchmen's lap. He stared flatly over his shoulder at Francis who asked, "Oui? Is something the matter?"

Matthew moved to get off, but the Frenchman held him saying, "Relax, mon cher. Let Papa France comfort you!"

"I'm not-," Francis let go and Matthew stumbled up, seeing Kumajaro had sunk his teeth in the Frenchman's ankle. "Gah!" he cried, trying to shake the bear off, "Get it off! Get it off!" Several French cuss words followed.

"Kumajaro! Down boy!" Matthew ordered. The bear released, looking at Matthew with round, black eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. Daddy loves you," he said, petting the bear before hoisting it up in his lap as he sat down, looking at the Frenchman warily.

"That bear!" Francis huffed, massaging his socked ankle. The bear had not even broken through the cloth, but he acted like it had torn of his foot.

"If I may begin, Peter said, clearing his throat. Matthew's eyes met Peter's equally nervous gaze. That dread from before would not leave his stomach.

"It began many years ago when that jerk Arthur..."

(End of Chapter 10. **Chapter 11: Better Left Unsaid **Ivan demands Alfred forgive him and Matthew learns the truth of his birth. This chapter might get expanded and it'll be a bit of a bitch to write. I don't know whether it will take a week or more, but I will try to keep up the pace. If I break up the chapter than parts of it will be posted faster.)


	11. Chapter 11: Never Piss off a Prussian

**Chapter 11: Never Piss off a Prussian **

(Why you should never piss off the son of a Prussian warlord. Sorry I did it again. I broke up the chapter. Sorry guys.)

"The Prince will come with me, da?" Ivan grinned.

Gilbert wasn't listening anymore. He had had an awesome idea and when a Prussian has an awesome idea you know troubles about to start.

_ The Russian bastard is a possessive creep,_ he realized. Alfred was currently laying on top of him in a very compromising position, neither one able to move because of the spear tips pressing into their napes.

Gilbert grinned. It was time for phase one of his awesome plan.

Conjuring up images of a certain Hungarian Princess with a busty chest and cream-colored thighs, he furthered the fantasy by putting her in a maid outfit with _sexy_, pink stockings. And lace, oh yes, couldn't forget that. _Too good_, he thought. His whole body got warm and his awesome member stirred.

Phase two began as soon as Ivan finished gloating and began to step forward. Gilbert let out a moan and uttered in a sultry voice, "Oooh ~ Majesty! Stop squirming and pressing your cock into me like that."

He would never have talked to Matthew like that, but _eh_, Alfred was well, Alfred.

"Say what?" Alfred choked, trying to get off Gilbert, but stuck by the spears.

"Don't be shy," Gilbert said, leering over his shoulder at Alfred's stunned blue eyes. Meanwhile in his mine, _Big tits! Big tits! Think of those Hungarian knockers!_ ran on repeat, keeping his face flush and his voice husky. "It's just like old times."

Alfred gaped at him, his eyes all but screaming, _Are you out of your damn mind? Do you want to die?_ "W-what are you talking about?" His blue eyes flickered in Ivan's direction and whatever he saw made them go wide.

The temperature had dropped by several degrees and Gilbert could feel waves of cold rage emanating from the Russian Prince.

"H-He's lying!" Alfred protested.

"Oh God, you're so hung," Gilbert panted. "It's making me so hard. Make me scream like you used to ~!" _Bit tits! Big tits!_ Had to focus on that to keep himself horny.

As expected the spears fell away as whatever Alfred was seeing was also turning the guards sheet white. The minute they were gone, Alfred leapt off Gilbert, insisting, "It's not true! Now Ivan."

While he was trying to calm down the murderous aura radiating from Ivan toward Gilbert, Gilbert took his opportunity and hopped to his feet, swiping a spear out a guard's hand. It was the one who'd drawn his blood.

Spinning around, he smashed the flat of the blade hard into that guard's neck sending him crashing into another guard. Before they could register they were on the floor, the other guard's torch thrown against the wall and snuffed out, Gilbert jabbed the butt end of the spear into the guard who'd hurt him's groin and then whacked it into the other guard's face, breaking his nose.

Satisfied they weren't getting up for a little while, he turned around, leveling the spear at a stunned Raivis, that taller guy, and another guard holding a torch. Now Gilbert saw what had frightened everyone. Ivan's metal pipe was out and if he had seemed on the brink of madness before, now he looked snapped.

"Majesty!" Gilbert hissed, groaning inside that Alfred had not used this chance to run away. When it finally dawned on Alfred to bolt, Ivan, quick as a snake, grabbed him by the scruff, dragging him back and pressing the pipe at Alfred's tender throat.

_That idiot_, Gilbert mentally sighed.

Even worse, Alfred struggled in all the wrong ways. If it had been Gilbert he would have punched, bitten, and kicked at the Russian for drawing him so close, but Alfred was not a trained warrior. Sure he had the instincts that most wild men of the USA seemed to possess, but not the understanding of certain actions. Instead, Alfred fought to get away, rather than force his attacker to want to get away from _him_.

"Stop or I start taking body parts," Ivan warned, caressing the pipe against Alfred's throat and cheek. Alfred stopped.

"Release him!" Gilbert demanded. "He is a sovereign of this kingdom and you have no right to harm him."

"_You?_ A mere Captain of the Guard dare to give me orders?" Ivan said, giggling. "Do not lecture me Prussian worm! I have every right. He is under my subjugation. He left without permission and I have to punish him for breaking the rules!"

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but Ivan's gloved hand clamped over it, muffling his words. From the growing blood stain on the glove, Gilbert was sure that was the hand Alfred had injured.

"You broke them first! You throttled my majesty. Endangered his life and I cannot allow you take to him back," Gilbert stated. He heard movement behind him. One of the guards was trying to sneak up, but he wouldn't have it. He shoved the spear backward, connecting with something soft. Whatever he struck, knocked the wind out of the guard, who crumpled behind him with a "oof". _That'll teach him_, Gilbert thought, smirking.

"He is mine!" Ivan insisted. "I only wish to discuss what happened with him. You will back off Prussian tick if you know what is good for you and your precious Canada!"

Alfred frowned. Gilbert on the other hand, threw his head back, laughing, "Yours? He's yours? What a fucking joke! Are all Russian nobles this fucking retarded?"

Ivan's eyes could have bored holes through metal. His hand that held the pipe, clenched tightly around it. His guards seemed terrified, stuck between Gilbert and their own Master.

"You are asking for an early de- Agh!" Alfred bit into the hand holding his mouth and though Ivan released his grip on the boy's mouth, he didn't let go, settling the hand on his throat.

_Ivan looks... hurt?_ Gilbert couldn't help but blink at that. Not hurt as in physically, but emotionally hurt. Like an owner bitten by their favorite pet. Just seeing that expression made Gilbert feel queasy.

"Enough!" Alfred cried, his eyes saying to Gilbert, _He'll kill you!_ Gilbert snorted at that. He wasn't afraid of a fucking Russian. "Ivan, Snowflake," Alfred began in a sweet tone as he pressed closer to the Russian. _Snowflake? Did he just call him snowflake?_ Gilbert gaped in his head, unable to believe what his ears were hearing. This shit was getting weirder by the second. "Please stop. There's no need for this."

The Russian's body and face visibly softened as he met Alfred's gaze, lowering the pipe from Alfred's throat, he used his other hand to caress the boy's cheek and smooth his hair lovingly.

Gilbert shuddered inwardly at the intimacy of it all. How Alfred could stand being fondled by that psycho was beyond him. _He must have a soft spot for sadistic bastards?_ He thought.

Alfred reached up, cupping Ivan's chin, he said in a soothing voice, "Please end this. For me?"

"All right, sunflower," Ivan said, the bloodlust all but disappeared from his eyes. For a minute, he leaned forward like he wanted to kiss Alfred right there, in front of everyone, but decided against it. Which was good, because bile was already rising up Gilbert's throat and anymore of this scene would definitely make him retch.

_Alfred is one tough soul to be able to put with that,_ Gilbert thought. _I'd be coughing up blood if I were being touched by that Russian disease. _

"Prince, I can take them! There's no need for you to surrender yourself!" Gilbert said, pressing forward. Raivis, that taller guy with glasses, and the other Russian guard, snapped to their senses at this and put their spears back to ready.

"There are four of them," Alfred said, his eyes warning Gilbert to back off. Gilbert resented that he thought Gilbert so weak.

"I know, it's unfair," Gilbert agreed, finishing with a grin, "For _them._"

Ivan clearly hated his Alfred even talking to Gilbert. _What a control freak?_ He thought as Ivan tried to turn Alfred's attention back to himself.

"What will it be, my Prince?" Ivan asked. "Will you come with me willingly or do I have to drag you and dispatch this fly?"

"Try it bastard!" Gilbert shouted.

"I-I'll go," Alfred said, his voice bitter, but determined as he focused on the wall in front of him. Ivan smiled that creepy innocent way, relaxing, he spared a triumphant glance at Gilbert.

"There you see. This whole matter was unnecessary," Ivan cooed, kissing Alfred's forehead. That was it. Gilbert almost lost last night's meal. He gagged a little, just barely keeping it down. Ivan threw a scowl at him. Alfred just raised an eyebrow, but quickly restored his serene expression when those violet eyes were back on him.

"Promise me you will spare the captain," Alfred urged.

"Spare? Are you fucking joking?" Gilbert guffawed, adding, "Your majesty. I can take them!"

Ivan's eyes narrowed, his face darkening, as he asked, "And why are you so concerned with _his_ welfare?"

"He's the Captain of the Guard. Who wouldn't be concerned with their soldiers' welfare?"

Ivan tilted his head in confusion and it was obvious to everyone, including Alfred, that that was a dumb question to ask the Russian. Nevertheless, the response satisfied the King of Bastards who nodded and said, "Of course, my sunflower," then he whispered something in Alfred's ear that was too low for Gilbert to hear. He didn't really want to know because whatever it was made Alfred color.

"Let us return," Ivan said, turning around, he guided Alfred away. Alfred shot Gilbert a look over his shoulder that spoke volumes, _Tell What's-His-Face everything. I'll deal with this creep on my own. I'm the hero after all!_

Gilbert growled in his throat and shook his head as the guards followed behind Ivan, keeping their spears pointed at Gilbert.

"Just gonna leave your men?" Gilbert called, nodding his head toward the guards behind him. Raivis and the taller guy appeared like they wanted to help, but didn't dare defy Ivan. "Okay, well I'll take real good care of them then ~," he yelled sweetly, watching them disappear.

As he faced the two, one was trying to push himself away, clutching his broken nose, staring wide-eyed at Gilbert who grinned and in a very cold voice said, "Now how about I show you guys a little Prussian hospitality!"

The conscious guard's eyes widened.

"No, I won't kill you," Gilbert said, chuckling. "That would be too quick."

And after Gilbert finished making them pay for their intrusion, then he would check on his awesome men, and then, finally, he would deal with how excited his fantasy about the Hungarian Princess in lace stockings had left him.

(End of Chapter 11. The next chapter covers what Peter knows.)


	12. Chapter 12: Better Left Unsaid

**Chapter 12: Better Left Unsaid**

(Now we hear what Peter has to say. Sorry this chapter was very challenging to write. Hope you enjoy it! )

_"It began many years ago with that jerk Arthur when he_ - oh forget it! I'll just cut straight to the point. You are not that jerk's flesh and blood son," Peter stated. A sledgehammer to the face could not have been more shocking, or more painful, to Matthew than those words. Distantly, he heard Francis suck in a sharp breathe.

He knew Francis was trying to say something to him, but those words, _you are not that jerk's flesh and blood son_, were all he could hear. They reverberated in his mind, growing until they were deafening.

Something was thudding. _My heart, _he realized, clutching at his chest. He could not breathe; his throat was so tight and the air felt thick like jelly. He began to gasp.

Searching for an escape from this nightmare, his eyes went toward Francis, desperate for him to deny it. Rumors about Matthew's birthright had plagued him for years, but Francis had always been there. Always backed him. Always assured him. Francis just had to do it again.

Yet all he did was sit there. His blue eyes for once solemn and concerned without a hint of lust, well maybe a smidgen, but one truth in them was clear: _Francis knew_. He knew that Peter was right.

_And how long have you known?_ _How long have you been lying to me? _ Matthew wanted to scream, if his throat would only open. He had never been good with confrontation, always mumbling his challenges and losing his voice. Yet he was so angry and upset, his body seemed to be physically strangling itself.

"Maple," he squeezed out, his hands clenching into his fists. In his childhood, he taught himself to use that in place of swear words. A use that was now so ingrained in his psyche that he couldn't help but do it. _Why is it so hard to express my rage? Why does it always get bottled up inside me?_ he lamented in his head, loathing his weaknesses all the more. How lacking he was as a leader.

His birthright had been his only real justification for being the Prince of Canada. He couldn't command leaders' attention; they merely walked all over him and even sat on him like he wasn't there. Even Kiku, who was also shy and meek, could get his way, negotiate, but all Matthew ever got for Canada was the short end of the stick. _If it wasn't for Francis my kingdom would have been conquered long ago_, he thought bitterly.

A warm, familiar hand touched his shoulder, breaking him from his self-pity, and he rocketed to his feet, wanting to shriek at the lying frog to never come near him again when the floor swayed under Matthew, the room spinning. He fell, his vision tunneling, but he never reached the ground. Strong, protective arms caught him.

_Francis_, he thought, his heart aching with sorrow, and then everything went dark.

_.oOo._

His nose twitched from an acidic, bitter odor. _Smelling oils_, he realized.

_ "_Is he awake?" asked a high, squeaky voice. _That's Peter_, he remembered. Matthew was laying on a sofa, the one he'd spent more than a few occasions reading on, wondering what his father would have thought of him. _Would he be proud?_ Had been a questioned that had often haunted him. Now it was, _Is he your father?_

He had tried so hard to be worthy of his title, knowing that he wasn't cut out for ruling anything. So hard to be a son his father would have respected and admired. _A fruitless effort_, he thought.

Matthew kept his body still, not wanting to face either of them. He wanted to listen a little longer. See if they spilled anything they didn't want him knowing.

"Maybe," answered a voice beside him. Francis. "No thanks to you, monsieur! I told you to be gentle with your words. Gentle!"

"I was!" Peter insisted. "There seemed no point in not outright saying it! How was I to know he would faint!"

"Mon cher is a delicate swan," Francis explained. Matthew's brow twitched in the beginnings of a frown. The oil was removed and Francis bent over Matthew. He could feel the Frenchman's breath tickling his cheeks. _Why does he smell like a lavender perfume?_ He realized quick that was a dumb question since Francis loved to scent himself.

"Ah! I just remembered how you wake a sleeping prince!" Francis declared.

"Oh, and how's that?" Peter inquired. Matthew, after years of being around Francis, grasped the answer all too late as Francis' lips clamped onto his own, Francis' tongue sliding in and caressing the roof of his mouth.

Matthew's eyes flew open and he sat up so fast, their foreheads smacked together and both clutched them, groaning in pain. Though the French Lord's "ow" sounded lewd.

"You... you!" Matthew spluttered, his face beet red, unable cobble together the words to express his rage. Francis, after just revealing himself as a liar, had dared to do such a thing. That pissed him off even more.

_I've been french kissed_! Matthew realized. It wasn't the first time Francis had stolen a kiss from him. That went to Matthew's sixteenth birthday when Francis had told him to close his eyes so he could give the Prince his "special" present. But it was the first time he had stuck his tongue into Matthew's mouth. Rubbing at his lips furiously with the sleeve of his robe, he managed to say, "You pervert!"

"Oui!" Francis agreed enthusiastically, leaning toward him he whispered, "How about another?"

Matthew darkened a new shade of red, his mind for a fleeting moment pondering what it would be like. Francis was legendary for his bed skills. _No way, never_, he thought, shaking his head.

While he was thinking, Francis had taken his lack of "no" as a "yes" and leaned in closer. Matthew sat up and scooted to the end of the couch. "I'm angry with you," he managed in a tone that was almost speaking level, he crossed his arms. The worst was how amused Francis seemed by all this. Like he thought Matthew was just pouting!

"Do you guys need some privacy?" Peter asked, looking like he was intruding on a lovers' spat.

Matthew colored again as he stammered, "O-Of course not!"

Kumajaro stopped Francis from making a lecherous comment, by leaping onto the sofa and wedging himself between the two. He growled at Francis who edged away from the bear.

_Good bear_, Matthew thought, scratching behind his bear's ears. At least someone understood him even if he sometimes forgot who Matthew was.

"No, it's fine," Matthew affirmed. Before he didn't want to know, but now he wanted to know the rest. The whole truth. How much had Francis been hiding from him? "Tell me everything," he said unable to stop himself from adding, "please."

"You sure? Because you just fainted like some damsel."

"I'll be fine. It was just the initial shock. I'm ready now."

Peter spared a looked at Francis who nodded.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you. Anyhow that Jerk Arth-"

"Must you call him that? He deserved to be addressed by his title," Matthew demanded, but it came out so timid it sounded like mere suggestion.

"Oh, right," Peter agreed. "So as I was saying, that Jerk _King_ Arthur," Matthew sighed, "decided to go and tame the wild lands. He spent years doing it. The Frog later joined on the fun and they warred."

"Oui, we did indeed" Francis sighed as if remembering something fondly. Matthew glared at him.

"He chose me, his glorious son."

"Nephew," Francis corrected.

"He's in denial."

"Be grateful he allowed a nobody like yourself to claim connections with him at all."

"Be grateful?" Peter huffed, puffing out his chest. "He should be grateful to be connected to a great ruler such as I."

"You're a ruler?" Matthew asked.

"How can you not know the King of Sea land when you see him?" Peter gasped. "Have you been living in a cave all your life?"

"The leader of where?" Matthew said, confused. He was usually decent with geography.

"Sealand! It's only the most powerful empire on the planet!" Peter cried, throwing up his hands, adding in a low voice, "Or will be soon."

Matthew moved his eyes to meet Francis, his expression obvious, _Who is this mad man?_ Francis didn't say a word, but from his expression, Matthew could draw two very obvious meanings:

_Bear with it, Mon Cher_ and _How about another kiss?_

_ "_Right," Matthew said, yanking his gaze back onto Peter. "I see. So you're related to my uncle?" the words tasted bitter. _He's not really my uncle_, he thought, not that he had ever seen the man more than a couple times and in those, his Uncle had never even noticed Matthew was nearby despite introductions and everything.

"So the story goes. That jerk King Arthur wanted me to claim the Scottish King as my father just to piss him off. At least the Jerk could agree to some similarity between me and the rest of his jerk bunch."

"So you were saying?"

"About my awesome empire?"

"About conquering the Americas!"

"Oh that," Peter said as if they were discussing something far less interesting. "To cut a long story short. Lots of wars. Canada was born. Thirteen colonies made and then rebelled. The whole USA going horribly wrong for that jerk King Arhtur. Ya-da, ya-da. You know the rest."

Matthew nodded. He was a dutiful student.

"So during the year after he lost his war with the US, he continued to wander the wild lands, searching for something. And I bravely volunteered to join as his protector."

"Page," Francis chimed in. Peter frowned.

"_Guardian_. In return, that Jerk King Arthur swore to recognize my great Empire."

"Metal shack."

"Would you stop that frog!" Peter cried, jabbing a finger at Francis. "I'm trying to tell a story! The one you dragged me all the way here to tell."

"And why would you do that?" Matthew finally asked, growing less angry and more puzzled why Francis would lie all these years and suddenly reveal himself. It wasn't like him. _He wouldn't do that unless_...Matthew let the thought die. He couldn't hate the Frenchman. His mind was already scouring for reasons, justifications, for Francis in all this.

"Let's hear the story first, Mon cher," Francis urged, a sad look in his eyes. _Is that regret?_ Matthew wondered, feeling a pang of remorse for his earlier anger. _Why does this always happen? Why can't I stay angry at people?_ He wondered. He needed to play some hockey. It was how he dealt with his frustrations.

"Anyhow, if we've had enough interruptions," Peter said, glaring at Francis. "That jerk King Arthur as you now all well know, thought he hid his beliefs in fairies and magical lands well. I found out on accident because I walked into his tent one day while he was _spellcasting_ and he swore me to secrecy."

"More like threatened you with death," Peter shot Francis a scowl. "All right, monsieur. No more." Francis held up his hands in surrender.

"Yeah, so he loved those magic creature stories. Turns out the reason he became so obsessed with the wild lands in the first place was this tome he had found years ago. He said it belonged to his distant ancestor, Merlin, who was a real wizard. Can you believe that? He became obsessed with finding the door to the fairy realm that according to that moldy old book was in forest that was very like the Yellowstone Forest, deep in the wild land."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with me? You said, he wasn't my real father. Why?" Matthew did it! He interrupted someone! His moment of interjection pride quickly evaporated as he felt remorse for doing something so rude. _Stay angry! _He ordered himself, but it was futile. All the fury from earlier was seeping out of him fast as if he were trying to hold onto it with a colander.

The cold truth was, Matthew could never stay angry at anyone for long. Least of all, Francis.

"I'm getting there! So this is the tale of the Great King of Sea Land's heroic adventure with that Jerk King Arthur. My land had just become the great Emp-"

"Tell it right or else," warned Francis, reaching into blue coat, a dark twinkle in his eye. Peter blanched. _What hold does he have over the small guy?_ Matthew wondered.

"Fine, I was proudly marching though the woods as any trained warrior would, unafraid of the dark forest we were in. You should have seen me, you would have been astonished by my courage..."

.OOO.

**Nineteen years ago**

"_Can we go back now?" Peter whined, his watery eyes jumping from this place to that, sure a wild beast would pop out at any moment and gobble him up. _I am too important to die! _Peter thought. He really missed his beautiful steel fortress that this Jerk was keeping him away from with his promise of, _Dear Peter, if you serve me for a few years years, I'll recognize you. Love the Jerk-ass.

I should have said kiss off jerk-face, but noooo_, he mulled in his head for the umpteenth time, glaring at the jerk's back. _

_ "No, for the last time, we can't. Not when we are so close. Bloody hell! You whine more than that stupid frog!" Jerk Arthur replied, keeping his back to Peter as he walked. The jerk's grey cloak trailed behind him, each swish of it, revealed the gold tip of his long's sword's scarlet sheath and his blade's gold hilt shaped like a lion. _

_ Peter didn't bother asking what they were close to. He already knew the jerk's response would be, "The fairyland, of course," as if that was a normal answer. _He makes Russian Nobility look sane,_ Peter grumbled in his head, staring daggers at the back of the Jerk's sandy-blonde head. _

_ "Those busy eyebrows must extend into his head or something," he muttered in what he thought was low voice, but the Jerk suddenly halted and shot him a warning look with his emerald eyes. Peter flinched, despite himself. _

_ Beneath the cloak, the Jerk wore a white tunic, the Lion Crest gleaming in gold and scarlet on the front, and under that a hauberk that sparkled silvery in the few rays of sunlight that were leaking through the sycamore tree canopy. Each of Arthur's steps made his metal coat clink._

_ "What was that?" Arthur asked, staring at something beyond Peter. _

_ "N-Nothing," Peter stammered, trying to sound unafraid. _That knitting-jerk doesn't intimidate me! Not I! Not in the least!_ he told himself. _

_ "No, I mean what was that? That sound," Arthur said, listening harder. Peter at last heard it to. Distant growling and snarling noises and something else. _Is that a baby crying?_ He wondered, but that was impossible. Nobody lived out here._

_ "Wolves," the Jerk whispered and took off running toward them._

_ "Wait! What are you doing?" Peter cried, following after him, the backpack of crap the Jerk had made him carry, bouncing around on his back. "It's too dangerous! We don't have guards!" he yelled, but Arthur was already way ahead of him, disappearing into the foliage. _

_ Peter didn't want to head toward trouble, but he less wanted to be alone. So he chased after the Jerk and as he ran, a strange breeze blew against his nape. He felt less exhausted all of the sudden, an odd warmth coursing through him, urging him to hurry. If Peter didn't know better, he would say there was magic in the air. _

_(End of Chapter 12. __**Chapter 13: How Arthur and Mattie Met!**__ We utilize flashbacks to tell the story!)_


	13. Chapter 13: How Arthur and Mattie Met!

_**Chapter 13:**__**How Arthur and Mattie Met!**_

_(The reveal you've all been waiting for is here! Oh, and a dash of Ivan and Alfred at the end.)_

_ "That idiot-jerk!" Peter snarled, throwing the Jerk's rucksack on the ground and kicking it for good measure. He hated carrying the damn thing anyway. "Go get eaten! See if I care!" he called toward where the Jerk had disappeared out of sight, stiffening as the snarls and growls changed to pained yips._

Oh shit,_ he thought. Arthur had found the wolves and they were only a few feet away in the forest foliage._

What if they retreat this way?_ He worried, his eyes going to a nearby tree with a low-hanging branch. "Better," he said, licking his lips, "Better climb up a tree and keep a lookout. Yeah, that's it." _

_ Dragging the rucksack over to the trunk as fast as he could, he deposited it there and reached for the branch, holding his hat on as his head tilted upward. His fingertips just brushed it as he hopped on his tiptoes. _

_ "Stupid branch. It's too high!" he muttered, shutting down the thought, _or you're too short_. Which wasn't true because he just hadn't finished growing yet. When he hit his next growth spurt he would tower over that Jerk. _

_ Something grabbed his blue pant leg and he leapt away, kicking it as he fell backward and shrieked at a far higher pitch than he would ever admit to. He landed against the tree trunk, facing... a small toddler?_

What the hell?

_ The child had a round, white face marred with dirt and grass stains just like the white dress it was wearing. It had pale blonde hair and the most striking violet eyes he had ever seen. Its hand was still outstretched, reaching for where it had touched Peter. A red mark was on its forehead from where Peter had kicked it._

_ After a pregnant pause, tears welled in those opal eyes and then the sniffling began and quickly turned to sobbing. _

_ "Ah, shit," he groaned. _The world must hate me. What the hell is a child doing out here_? he wondered. The last thing he needed was a crying one-year old by the looks of it to attract every weird predator this forest had. "Shh! Be quiet!" he hissed, but the child only got louder. _

_ Desperate he clamped a hand over its mouth, at first it worked, then its face turned redder and redder until he realized he was making it worse. He let go, and the child outright bawled. _

_ "Ah, damn where's the jerk when you need him?" Peter lamented. Domestic matters were that guy's speciality, except for cooking. The Jerk's scones could be used as a means of torture as Peter had learned all too well once. _

_ He was so focused on the child; he never noticed the malicious set of golden eyes creeping up on his left side until a hot, foul-smelling breath blew against his cheek. Quaking with fear, he turned toward the biggest and ugliest wolf he had ever seen. _

_ Its snout was caked with blood as was most of its black fur. If Peter had been standing up, the beast would have been at throat level with him. There was more. Something in those eyes that spoke of more than just hunger. They felt _evil_. _

Oh shit_, he had time to think, its lips curling back in a snarl, it growled and snapped at him. He threw himself over the child, awaiting imminent death. There was a gruesome crunch behind him. _

_ He waited, opening his eyes one at a time, and then looked up to see Arthur standing over the wolf's carcass triumphantly with his sword wedged through its left eye and jaw, planting it in the dirt. _

_ "Good day, Peter," he said with a laugh. The Jerk had the nerve to laugh after Peter had almost been ripped to shreds. _

_ "About time, jerk," Peter snapped, not wanting to admit how happy he was to see Arthur right then._

_ Arthur placed a food on the beast and yanked his blade out with gristly noise, wiping it clean on the hide before sheathing it, all in one smooth motion. "What are you sobbing for?"_

_ "I'm not sob...," Peter trailed off, remembering the baby. He pulled away, revealing the child. Arthur's eyes widened and he practically shoved Peter, that's right shoved, Peter aside to pick it up as gently as any mother Peter had ever seen._

_ "Who is this lad?" the Stupid Jerk asked, hugging it tenderly to his chest, he patted it on the back, making soothing noises as he said, "Shhh, there, there little one. Uncle Artie is here." The baby hushed almost immediately._

_ "Son of b-."_

_ "Language, Peter," Arthur rebuked him, "There's a child present."_

_ Peter's jaw worked, trying to form words. He opened it and shut it several times before saying, "Heck if I know where that brat came from! He grabbed my leg!"_

_ "There, there, poppet," the Jerk said, rubbing the child's back. It hiccuped a little and buried it's face in the Jerk's shoulder, one of its small hand clutching the Jerk's tunic. _What a mother hen_, Peter thought. "What do you think this red mark is from?"_

_ "Oh, I kicked it earl-."_

_ "You kicked a baby?" the Jerk hissed. "How could you?"_

_ Peter huffed. This was too much! "How could you-" at the Jerk's warning look, he lowered his voice. Not that he gave a damn what the Jerk thought, but he didn't want that child screaming again. "How could you run off and leave me like that? I was nearly eaten! I told you we needed guards!"_

_ "The door to the fairy land will not reveal itself if there are too many," the Jerk responded non-chalantaly._

_ Peter sighed. _Oh, like that makes sense_. "How do you think he got here? Where are his parents?"_

_ Arthur looked at Peter with a sad expression as he said, "There over there where I fought the Wargs. What's left of them. A man and a woman. They're mostly devoured."_

_ Peter had to digest that, his eyes flickering to the child and then back to Arthur's emerald eyes. "That's awful. You mean it's an orphan?"_

_ "_He_," the Jerk said emphatically, "Not it, Peter. A baby is not an _it_."_

_ "Yeah, whatever. So it-he's an orphan, right?"_

_ "Yes, it appears so."_

_ "By the way, what's a warg?" Peter knew he shouldn't ask, but his curiosity was overwhelming his better judgement. _

_ The Jerk nodded at the beast behind him, answering, "Those are. They are not normal wolves if you can tell. They are creatures that prey on magical beings or beings with magic."_

_ "Uh-huh," Peter said. Yeah, he should have known. _

_ "Stop looking at me so," the Jerk said, the baby was dozing in his arms. "Ah, poor guy is tuckered out." _

_ Very carefully the Jerk started handing him to Peter, who gaped, "W-What are you doing? I don't want it, him."_

_ "Too bad," the Jerk said, "I need you to hold Mattie while I check for more survivors."_

_ "Who?" Peter asked, going rigid as the sleeping child was placed in his arms. God, the kid was a little heavy, but very cute. Peter could concede that much._

_ "Matthew, that's his name."_

_ "Really? How did you figure that out?"_

_ "Simple I gave it to him," Jerk Arthur said, adjusting Peter's arms and how he was holding the toddler._

_ "Wait," Peter said, having to figure that out. "You named him? When?"_

_ "Just now. What's the matter with that?" Arthur asked defensively, blushing a little. _

_ "You've known him what a minute and you've named him?"_

_ "It's better than calling him, _it_," Arthur replied, moving Matthew so he rested in the crook of Peter's arm. "No, no Peter. He's not a sack of potatoes. You have to hold him gently. Gently."_

Again with the gentle! I am gentle! Why does everyone harp on me about that?_ He grumbled in his head, snapping, "Would you stop with the fussing! Why don't you just hold him?"_

_ "I already told you why."_

_ "How can you just leave me alone again? And with a helpless child? What am I supposed to do if there are more of those things?" He asserted. _

_ "You're correct, for once," the Jerk said, saying the last part in a lower voice. Peter scowled at him. The Jerk reached into his cloak, stained with spots of blood now, and pulled out a small stick, bent at the tip. Then began muttering something as if he were trying to recall words._

_ "What's that?" _

_ "Oh, my wand," Arthur replied, lighting up as he remembered whatever he was trying to._

_ "Your...," Peter trailed off. "Oh no."_

_ It was too late. The Jerk Arthur waved it around and whispered low incantations. Though Peter was loathe to admit it, the air did seem a bit warmer. _

Stupid, stupid, don't believe this nonsense_, he thought as he stared flatly at Arthur._

_ "There," Arthur said, stuffing the wand back in his cloak. "I have set up a protective barrier just in case. Stay where you are and nothing of evil intent can enter here."_

_ "You're kidding, right?"_

_ "About what?" Arthur said, smiling as he slipped off back into the bushes and out of sight._

Jerk-face is nuts_, Peter thought, but decided it was best to stay where he was. Just in case._

_ Holding a sleeping child was harder work than Peter had realized. Eventually he found a position as he sat down, where the child was in his lap with his arms resting on its back. Despite the cool day, rays of the afternoon sun were leaking in and warming Peter's side. His eyelids began to droop._

_ The snap of a twig in front, brought him back and his head shot up, saying, "I'm awake! I'm awake!"_

_ He blinked at what he saw, glancing down at Matthew just to be sure. There was no mistake, there was another Matthew standing in front of him, with a big stick raised over its head. The other Matthew was glaring at him and there were a couple differences. This other child had sky blue eyes and a darker shade of blonde-hair. He was also staring at Peter with an intensity the other Matthew didn't have._

_ But the biggest difference of all, was that this Matthew was injured, badly. That he was alive, let alone able to stand at all was amazing. His white dress was in tatters and soaked with blood. Pieces of the meat in his arms had been bitten off. His face was covered in blood. The sight of him made Peter sick with sorrow. What had those things done to this child?_

He's been partly eaten_, Peter realized. _That poor gu-.

THWACK! _The brat broke the stick over Peter's head._

_ "Son of a...!" Peter cried, a trickle of blood worming down the center of his forehead. The words died on his lips as Mattie's twin, overtaken by exhaustion and pain, collapsed in front of him, blood leaking from his wounds. _

_.OOO._

_ "..._the other Mattie crumpled before me. Realizing the poor thing needed help, I..." Peter paused to take a gulp of wine from the cup Francis had handed him earlier. Matthew used the interruption to jump in.

"What do you mean the other Mattie?" he asked, his lips felt dry and his throat tightened. He didn't want to hear it and yet so desperately did. It was getting hard to breathe again. A telltale sign he should stop, but he couldn't anymore.

"The reason I brought Peter here, mon cher," Francis answered. Matthew's heart began to pound. His suspicious were growing. A feeling he had known all along.

Finally Peter answered, "He was your twin, Lord Matthew. The one Arthur would name Alfred."

The pressure on his lungs became a vice. His stomach lurched and the dizziness overwhelmed him. "Maple," he whimpered and blacked out.

.oOo.

Matthew didn't say a word as Ivan dragged him back to the West Wing. Which was good because Ivan needed to think.

He was torn about what to do next. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to throw Matthew down and pound into that flawless, tanned body, but that would only satisfy his carnal desires. And Ivan wanted more of him. He wanted Matthew's soul, his love, his adoration, his _heart_, everything.

Getting that, while Matthew was _misunderstanding_ their little incident, would not be easy. _The Prince should be glad I explain this at all,_ Ivan thought. Subjugation was not about the others' feelings. At least it never had been before.

_Is this subjugation anymore?_ He wondered. Something in his chest was stirring and had been since that moment. One now so etched into Ivan's mind.

.OOO.

_Ivan stared at his bleeding hand, aware of its throbbing pain. He just realized his pipe was snatched out of his hand when it whammed into his left temple, sending bright colored spots exploding across his vision. Ivan crash-landed into the carpeted floor, just missing the pillows._

What happened? Was this a nightmare?_ He wondered. He couldn't think clearly. His head was ringing. That blow had been something else and he was very lucky his head was still attached. _

_ Ivan was aware his pet was standing over him, the pipe raised for the deathblow. General Winter wasn't stopping the boy. No, he could see General Winter's blood lust entering the boy's eyes. _

Damn you Winter. Treacherous bastard,_ He thought, sure the killing blow would follow. Death did not scare him, but it would be humiliating having his brains bashed in my one of his toys. What a fool he had been to think this child was different. Humans were just savage beasts and his toy was no exception._

_ Ivan was too weak to stop him. _

_ Then something happened. The Prince's expression softened from murderous rage into... his Sunflower. The pipe fell to the ground and Matthew stared at his hands, then Ivan, then the pipe. A dozen emotions played across that face, but the one most prominent in his eyes was one Ivan didn't think anyone but his elder sister was capable of: _mercy.

_ His naked Prince fled the room, leaving a stunned Ivan there to process what he had witnessed. A boy, a man, had overcome General Winter's influence to spare Ivan. _

_ Ivan shook, not from fear, but the realization of what he had found. By the time, Eduard arrived, Ivan had already made up his mind. Matthew would become one with him. _

_.OOO._

By the time Ivan and his Matthew reached the room, they were alone, the guards having stayed behind at the entrance of the West Wing. Ivan pulled Matthew into their room. Letting go, he shut the door and turned back, his mouth open, ready to explain when Matthew's fist connected with his jaw sending his back against the door.

_ My Matthew is strong,_ Ivan thought, proudly. The thought of an equal had never made him happy. A rival was the same as an enemy to Ivan. Something to be crushed before it could become a threat. His pet was now an exception. Matthew's strength would make things difficult at first, but when they were one, his love's power would be _his_.

He tasted blood in his teeth and licked them, grinning as he stood to his full height. "So you like it rough, da?"

_This is better_, he thought. He had not felt like talking. Not after finding out his pet had run naked into that Prussian rat's bedroom.

"I guess so," Matthew said, taking a step back as he held up his fists and stood in a fighting pose.

"A challenge, da?"

"No, more like a I'm going to kick you're fucking ass, you commie scum," his Sunflower retorted, smirking. Ivan giggled. How he loved violence and always would, especially doling it out.

"Try it," Ivan said, adding, "And pray, my Sunflower, you do not _lose_."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Snowflake," Matthew countered, charging at Ivan, his fist raised. Ivan fell into a fighting stance, eager for the attack, thinking, _This will be fun._

(End of Chapter 13. So now you know some of the truth! We turn back to Alfred and Ivan in **Chapter 14: Forgive Me** Stay tuned!)

**Questions:**

a) Yes, as you always suspected, Mattie and Alfred are twin brothers.

b) No, Alfred is not a zombie, vampire, or any member of the undead.

c) Why wouldn't they remember things? Well, because have you tried to remember things from when you were one year old. Trust me, at one year old, you wouldn't remember this. You might recall sensations or sounds, but you would not recall full fledged events. So that's why this is new stuff to Matthew.

**Author's Notes: **

How this chapter was originally meant to be told:

A bunch of dialogue with Sealand recounting things.

Me : *reread, falling asleep from the boring info dump* Bah! *throws aside! Need to spice it up*

*type, type* *reads again... still boring* Damn! *move, shift, rearrange chapters*

*reads again* IMPROVEMENT!

Slowly it becomes clear that there is only one way for Mattie's past to be revealed in a slightly interesting way. I must do the unthinkable. Can you say... FLASHBACKS!

And thus was born the Arthur and Sea Land Flashback Special! Yeah like I said, a very challenging chapter to write. The information was necessary for the story, but not easy to spice up with love scenes and witty dialogue. Hope you enjoy it anyway!


	14. Chapter 14: Forgive Me

**Chapter 14: Forgive Me**

(I had to break it in half. This chapter was an absolute nightmare to write. Damn you watershed moments! Why must you be my bane? Oh, I hate you so. *shakes fist* Oh and an original character enters the mix.)

You know that feeling? When you wish the ground would just crack open and swallow you? Boris was feeling that. He had screwed up. Big time.

Boris, a young, short, scrawny, and thoroughly unattractive by any standard man, had been the perfect choice to serve the jealous Master's pets.

Orders were simple. Bring the pet's their food and clean clothing Do not speak or disturb them. If the pet is asleep you may enter their room and leave their items, but do not wake them. If they are awake, set it by the door and go. And NEVER enter when the Master is with one of his pets no matter what you hear.

Boris had been diligent. His service had begun with Lithuania's Lord and even though that man had shrieked himself hoarse under the Master's attentions, Boris had followed his instructions dutifully. No intrusions. No knocking. No aid.

So why now had he disobeyed?

He didn't have an answer as he stood there, knowing he was dead meat.

_It's because of the Canadian Prince_, he thought. A couple days ago he had found the Prince sleeping and entered, setting the Prince's lunch on the table. Turning around to go, he had been stunned to find the Canadian standing there in boxers, grinning at him with a hand stuck out.

Boris had just stared at it, his instincts telling him to bolt, but then the Lord had started spewing a whole bunch of English words at him like, "Hey, it's the unibrow kid!" and "Do you like hamburgers?". Somehow the Lord's cheerful demeanor had put him at ease. Boris had no idea what the Prince was saying, but he suddenly wished then that he knew more than two words in English. Whatever the guy was saying had to be crazy brilliant from the way he was smiling about it.

Soon Boris found himself shaking hands with the noble and teaching him Russian words. He taught Boris important English phrases like, "I want a hamburger" and "extra cheese, please". He still had no idea what those words meant, but the Prince had given Boris the impression they were the most crucial words you could learn in the English language.

The next day Boris had again come, but this time he was just going to drop off the Lord's clothing and go, avoiding another risky situation. Before he could flee though, the door banged open and the Lord greeted him again with those pearly whites. More language lessons followed until Boris snapped to his senses and realized the Master could return at any moment.

Boris had fallen asleep looking forward to today, hoping to see that smile, but word had come that the Master had tried to kill the kind Prince. Without more explanation, they had shoved a warm bowl of water and whicker basket of clean linen and medical supplies into Boris' arms and ordered him to carry them over.

Boris had intended to do that and no more. Yet as he stood outside the Lord's door and heard the sound of flesh smacking flesh, the grunt of exertion, someone landing against the door, and then more fighting, his heart began to thud. He panicked, fearful for the Lord.

It wasn't that Boris had never pitied the pets before, but he had his own worries. If Boris had learned anything in life, it was that you didn't get far in this world by playing the hero. Yet somehow, that Canadian had made him want to be one anyway.

Before he knew what he was doing, he flung open the door, hoping to distract the Master from hurting the Lord. He froze at what he saw, his face turning red. He had just made a terrible mistake.

There was his Master on the bed straddled by the Lord. There was the Lord pinning his Master's arms to his sides with the Lord's knees. The Lord had one hand snarled through the Master's silvery locks and the other pulled back in a waiting punch.

They stopped, the Lord looking over his shoulder at Boris and the Master lifting up his head to glare over the Lord's thigh at the intruder. The Master's grin became childish and Boris knew he was in big trouble.

"Oh, Pree-ve-ti!" The Prince said in too happy of a voice. It was one of the words Boris had taught him. It meant "hi". Boris flinched at hearing it, feeling DOOM spelled over his head as the Master's glare became a death gaze.

_Lord Matthew why?_ he squeaked in his mind.

"Leave!" the Master snarled in Russian, his voice cold and clipped with a definite, _I'll deal with you later maggot_.

Boris left everything inside the room, accidentally sloshing a little water on the floor, and shut the door.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ He scolded himself mentally as he fled. _Why did I do that?_ But he knew why. There was something weird about that Canadian Lord. He drew people to act in ways that were contrary to their interests.

_It's like he's not of this world_, Boris thought and shook his head, dismissing it. That was crazy. If there was any magic in this world, it was the bad kind that Ivan used to dominate the lands. And yet, something about that young Prince made Boris feel hope for the first time in what might very soon be his short life.

.oOo.

Alfred, while concerned for his friend Boris, had other problems. His face grew more heated by the second as he realized the position Ivan had lured him into. _Damn, damn commie!_ He growled in his head, as Ivan's hands suddenly cupped his ass and squeezed.

He yelped, leaping off and tumbling off the edge of the bed backwards, he landed hard, and scurried backwards into the door as Ivan sat up with an amused expression. The water bowl and basket of medical supplies sat beside Alfred.

"Why stop? You were doing so well, da" Ivan said, giggling as he wiped blood off his split lip.

"You tricked me!" Alfred accused, replaying in his head the way Ivan had guided his movements toward the bed, accepting and giving blows here and there until he had fallen toward the bed, dragging Alfred on top of him. Alfred, being the doofus he was, had been so lost in pummeling Ivan he had not even noticed the way the Russian was directing him.

"Whatever can you mean, darling?"

"Don't darling me, you psycho!" Alfred snapped. "I'm not your anything!"

"Ah, so you want to hit me more?" Ivan said, patting his lap for Alfred to sit on it. Alfred stayed where was scowling at the Russian. "Should I come to you?"

"Time out!" Alfred called, forming a T with his arms. Ivan blinked.

"A what?"

"I'm calling a time out. A truce. A peace agreement whatever you want to call it," Alfred said, wondering, _how can he still want to fight with those injuries?_ "But we're stopping the fight."

"Very well," Ivan said, sitting back on the bed. "But say please."

Alfred's eye brow twitched and taking a deep breathe, he forced a smile and said, "Please."

Ivan nodded and stared at him. _And the winner of no fucking apology skills goes to IVAN_, Alfred thought as they had a stare-off.

Ivan averted his gaze first, toward the pillows and Alfred noted the blood trickling down Ivan's cheek from his reopened wound, his blood-stained glove and the new bruises Ivan was forming thanks to their fight.

Alfed had his own now too. For some reason, Ivan had avoided Alfred's face and throat. Alfred had given him no such courtesy.

Staring at Ivan's temple wound, Alfred felt a pang of guilt. He shut his eyes, trying to stop it, but the memory came unbidden. The _thwack_ of the faucet pipe's steel connecting with Ivan's soft flesh. Alfred's desire to bash Ivan's brains in and paint the walls with his blood. _I was not myself_, Alfred thought. In that moment, he had almost become a monster. Something he'd never thought possible for a hero like himself.

"Sunflower, are you okay?"

He saw Ivan staring him. _Is that concern? No, not possible_, he thought. It had to be a trick of the morning sunlight that leaking in through the gaps in the shuttered window beyond Ivan's head and casting his face in shadow. _Ivan only cares for Ivan_, he said to himself.

"I'm fine," he lied, trying to stifle a yawn. Ivan smiled like he knew that sooner or later Alfred would have to go to sleep. _So creepy_, Alfred thought. He wished the Russian hadn't found Gilbert's dagger on the way here and taken it away, stuffing it back into one of that coat's mysterious pockets.

"Why did you speak Russian to that worm?" Ivan suddenly asked. Alfred groaned. _Again with the jealousy._

Not wanting to get Boris killed, he knew he needed to downplay things or Ivan would make the guy's life hell. He had been stupid to greet Boris like that and had done so without thinking. The words had just left his lips.

"Oh him," Alfred said as if addressing a nobody. "I thought that's how you speak to Russian trash. At least that's what Gilbert told me," he said, smiling at Ivan and adding, "Preeviyeti, Ivan."

"It's priviyeti," Ivan corrected, either ignoring or not noticing Alfred's insult. "Your accent is horrible."

_Fuck you_, he wanted to say, but instead settled on, "Ah, shucks, really?"

The silence returned. Alfred had enough. He would rather be tortured than endure not talking anymore.

"Okay, why don't you explain?"

"Explain what?"

"What happened last night. You've been going on and on about how you wanted to do that."

"How about we fight some more, da?" Ivan suggested, but Alfred shook his head.

"No, Snowflake. Enough fighting. Explain," he said and seeing Ivan's expression, added, "Please."

"Then you will forgive me," Ivan stated. Alfred couldn't tell if it was a question or an order. The tone was ambiguous.

"Maybe," Alfred shrugged.

Ivan's shoulders sagged in disappointment and for some reason that didn't make Alfred all that happy.

"Sunflower, I tire of this."

"Welcome to the club." Ivan frowned but smoothed his features back into that disturbing smile.

"Forgive me first," he insisted. Again it sounded more like a command than a request.

"And then what?"

"What do you mean?" Ivan asked in confusion. "Then we go back to the way were."

"The way we were?" Alfred snorted with a laugh. "You mean our awesome relationship where you forced me into sex, you mocked me, you treated me like a toy, like your property? That relationship?"

"I do not understand. You enjoyed it and you belong to me why should we not have sex?"

Alfred sighed in exasperation. _This man_, he thought. "You just don't get it. To be honest. I don't get you. Why is so important that I forgive you? Since when did my feelings ever matter to _you?" _

The smile for once slipped off his face as if Alfred had slapped him.

_Did I finally reach him?_ Alfred wondered, but that thought died as Ivan's smile went back on.

"Obviously, I care. I let you hit me. That is respect, da?"

Alfred gaped. _Okay, this guy is out of his mind_, he thought.

"How does beating you up show respect?"

"You are the first person I have ever allowed to hit me. Usually when people hit me I make them pay," Ivan said, a dark twinkle in his eyes. The blood on his face and his bottom lip made it all the more macabre. Alfred shuddered. "You should be honored."

Alfred jaw dropped.

"So you think allowing me to hit you is a sign of respect?"

"Da," Ivan nodded.

"What about you hitting others?"

"If they cannot stop me, then they are unworthy of respect."

"What kind of twisted logic is that?" Alfred blurted out, unable to stop himself. "That's just insane!"

"It is the way of the world. The strong dominate. The weak obey," he said as if this was the most obvious thing in the world, asking, "You do not like my new respect for you?"

_No, I like beating the crap out of you_, Alfred wanted to retort, but instead went with, "Listen that's not how people should deal with each other. They should talk things out first. Not resort to violence." _I can't believe I'm saying this_, he thought. As much as he loved talking, he loved taking action more and preferred the act first, think later approach.

Ivan stewed over the words for a long pause. One that seemed to stretch on and on as Alfred's stomach grumbled. He really wanted to get this over with and eat.

Ivan opened his mouth, then shut it, the opened it, and finally said, "Prince Matthew," Alfred jumped at hearing his _not-really-mine_ name. Ivan had never addressed him an equal. "Let us start again. This time I want to start a new relationship. One not as master and servant, but as lovers."

If Alfred had had anything in his mouth he would have spit it out. _What? Oh shit,_ he thought. "L-Lovers?" Alfred gaped, "Wow, wow there buddy. Let us think about this first. We barely know each other! We're not even in love," Alfred said, but Ivan appeared determined. Alfred had somehow made things a lot worse.

"You do not want to be my lover?" Ivan said, his eyes getting an evil gleam that made it clear, "no" was not an answer.

_Trick question_, Alfred thought.

"Well, what's the point in becoming that?" he said. "We're just going to go our separate ways after subjugation is over, right?" _Right?_ Alfred demanded in his head. Ivan couldn't fall for him. He couldn't. Not that Alfred blamed him, he was a charming guy, but still.

Another long pause, but this time Ivan studied Alfred, scrutinizing him. There was something in Ivan's eyes that made Alfred shiver. _What is he plotting_? Alfred wondered.

(End of Chapter 14. So we end halfway through Chapter 14. The rest will now be in Chapter 15. Stay tuned for **Chapter 15: A New Beginning) **

(Yeah, so sorry. This doesn't end where it was supposed to. I don't know how you guys feel, but I think character breakthroughs are an absolute bi*** to write. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't fall on smut and comedic moments to spice this up.

So I had to rove over it again and again tweaking the wording and moving dialogue chunks around. Realizing the it just couldn't be rushed without spoiling it and the chapter was getting too big, I split it up. It's a good thing I enjoy writing this story or I'd have stopped cold at this nightmare of a chapter.

Can't tell you how many times I've been typing it going, "Stupid #$#ing watershed moment!" Maybe it will still come off silly and contrite, but hey, at least I'll have tried!)


	15. Chapter 15: Forgive Me Part 2

**Chapter 15: Forgive Me (Part 2)**

**(**Yes, yes, you get a smut scene at the end.)

_ "Well, what's the point in becoming that?" he said. "We're just going to go our separate ways after subjugation is over, right?" _Right? _Alfred demanded in his head. Ivan couldn't fall for him. He couldn't. Not that Alfred blamed him, he was a charming guy, but still. _

_ Another long pause, but this time Ivan studied Alfred, scrutinizing him. There was something in Ivan's eyes that made Alfred shiver. _What is he plotting? _Alfred wondered._

"Another room will be prepared by this evening," Ivan said. Alfred blinked.

_What is this? Conversation hopscotch? _Alfred wondered. Ivan was really hard to talk to. He kept leaping from topic to topic.

"Okay," Alfred said a little confused. "That's not what I asked."

"So until then we will use this one," Ivan continued, grinning, apparently determined to control what they discussed.

"Right." Alfred nodded. His eyes flickered to the fireplace where nothing but the coals still burned. _Did it get colder?_ He thought, sure it was just his imagination. Yet as he stared at Ivan he felt something was wrong. More wrong than usual. Ivan's eyes went to the oak drawer, then the floor, then the fireside, then Alfred. They were all over the place like he were searching for an exit.

"Are you okay?" Alfred asked, his skin started tingling.

"I...I," Ivan said, his voice strained. His fists clenched the bedding and he choked out, "was... not myself last night! I'm sorry!"

The temperature plummeted and Alfred hugged himself, his breathe coming out a white mist. Goosebumps broke out all over his skin and there was another feeling. A familiar one from last night. That air of evil. His heart quickened its beat.

"Ivan," he said nervously, watching the shadows deepen around the Russian's features. Alfred stood up on shaky legs, sure he would need to run again. _Did his eyes just flash a frost blue?_ He wondered, but it was too dark to tell.

_Someone is here_, he thought. His memories of last night were already becoming fuzzy in places, but one thing he had not forgotten was the terrifying feeling of three being in the room. Him, Ivan, and someone else. Someone evil.

_It's like there are two Ivans_, he thought and suddenly large parts of Ivan's behavior made sense. _Maybe that's what Ivan's been trying to say. It's like something won't let him explain_, Alfred realized, fearful that last night had only be a taste of the other Ivan.

"Ivan," he said, his voice unsteady with fear and concern. His next words would decide his life, "I forgive you."

The atmosphere instantly lightened and Ivan relaxed, the shadows leaving his face. _What the hell had that been?_ Alfred wondered, puzzling over it. There was a thought, an understanding, but the more he tried to grasp it, the more it skittered away, eluding him.

"Really, Sunflower?" Ivan asked in a hopeful voice.

"Yes," Alfred lied, sure he had just averted catastrophe.

"I am so happy," Ivan said and patted beside him on the bed, "Now come sit with me so we can kiss and make-up."

_Geez, this guys thinks of nothing else when he's around me_, Alfred mused. _But I am pretty sexy_, he had to concede. His eyes locked onto the medical supplies and he had an idea.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't worry. I'm not running away, but we need to treat your injuries," he said, smirking as he picked up the bowl and kicked the basket over to Ivan.

"My...?" Ivan trailed off, stunned as Alfred sat down beside him and dunked a white rag in the luke warm water, ringing it out. Water trickled off it. "But." Alfred sat the basket beside himself on the bed.

"No buts!" Alfred said, scooting the bowl of water between his feet and turning to Ivan. "You might want to take off that scarf, buddy."

Alfred's time in the wild lands had taught him the value of treating wounds. Many of his people had died from infection by sometimes small cuts.

Ivan regarded him for a moment and then complied, folding the scarf neatly and placed on his other side.

"Now let us kis-," Ivan said, leaning forward but Alfred grabbed his chin and turned it firmly toward the door. Ivan didn't look angry, just surprised.

"Patching up your wound is more important. Right, Snowflake?" He said sweetly. "Can't have my vodka mint-muffin bleeding all over the place, now can I?"

He dabbed at the blood and cleaned the wound, violet eyes watched him from sideways. Alfred was none too gentle and that wasn't entirely deliberate. He just wasn't gentle. If it hurt, Ivan showed no sign of it.

Alfred's amazing strength had always been a blessing and a curse. He had to be real careful how he interacted with people. A lot of time he's hurt people without meaning to. That's why it was nice having someone who could match him. Who he didn't have to be so careful around.

His eyes went to Ivan's scars that extended down under the collar of Ivan's coat and onto his back where Alfred knew they crisscross other scars. Alfred at first thought they were awesome battle scars, but now that he could examine them closer he realized they couldn't be. _Are those lash marks like from a whip or a belt?_ He wondered.

Alfred wanted to ask, _Who did this to you?_, but he didn't dare. Ivan seemed ashamed of them and Alfred saw no reason to bring up bad memories.

Dipping the cloth in the water, blood inked out of it and he wrung it out again. Now that the wound was mostly clean, Alfred could see it was mostly a nasty bruise and was already yellowing at the edges.

_Ivan has my healing ability_, he realized, which made it all the more puzzling that Ivan had scars and Alfred didn't.

Ivan seized the wrist of the hand Alfred was using to brace Ivan's chin. "H-hey!" Alfred sputtered as Ivan held the hand to his lips and kissed Alfred's palm.

Alfred's heart skipped a beat and he blushed, looking away quickly to hide it, he asked, "W-what are doing?"

"Saying thank you," Ivan said, pulling Alfred's wrists outward, dragging Alfred to where Alfred had to face him or fall into his lap.

"Let me go!" Alfred demanded, keeping his face down to hide his reddened features. As much as he wanted to forgive Ivan, he knew better. No matter how he felt about Ivan, Ivan was dangerous. Ivan had tried to kill him. It was a matter of broken trust.

"As you wish, my Prince," Ivan said, releasing his wrist and facing the door once more. Alfred raised his eyes, surprised to find Ivan with an almost serene look.

_Wish I could figure this guy out_, Alfred said to himself, telling Ivan aloud as he left the rag in the bowl and dug through the basket, "Just so you know, this doesn't mean anything. I just want to clean the wounds I caused. That's all." He pulled out some gauze, a glass bottle of ointment, and several cotton balls.

Ivan's smile grew wider. _Wow, he's handsome when he actually smiles_, Alfred thought, his face heating up again. _Shit, did I just think that?_

"Well, aren't you going to say something?" Alfred asked, frustrated with the silence as he poured the ointment on a cotton ball, crinkling his noise at the acrid stench, and swabbing it on Ivan's wound. "It's boring when it's quiet. I start thinking too much and my head hurts."

"You can think?" Ivan asked with feigned astonishment. Alfred pressed the cotton ball into his wounds hard. If the pain felt any pain, he hid it well. Alfred nodded in respect for Ivan's pain tolerance. _Man is tough_, Alfred had to admit.

"Screw you," Alfred muttered, unfurling the gauze, he wrapped it around Ivan's head tightly like he'd rather strangle the man with it. "Can you ever talk to someone without putting them down?"

"Yes, if I bother talking to them at all. I do not see the point in all the inane chatter people make."

"Gee, with that winning attitude no wonder your Mr. Popular," Alfred said sarcastically, using one of the basket's tiny metal claps to tie off the bandages. He had to fight a snicker. Ivan looked too funny now like he was wearing a white bandana.

"Is something amusing comrade?" Ivan asked, raising an eyebrow. A fresh bout of giggles hit Alfred who bit his lip to stifle them.

"N-Nothing," he said.

"Good. Now that you have forgiven me, Sunflower. We can have make-up sex, da?" Ivan said, leering. That killed Alfred's mirth and he quickly fumbled for the rag.

"Y-Your glove!" He yelped, squeezing out the rag and holding it in front of him like a shield. "Take it off!"

"Just the glove, da?" Ivan ask, his voice a blend of seduction and disappointment.

"O-obviously!" Alfred stammered, shutting down the thought, _though I wouldn't mind more_. He could not believe the effect this guy had on him. _Did the attempted strangling do nothing to kill the attraction, body?_ he demanded in his head.

He stared as Ivan took the edge of the bloody glove with his teeth and pulled it off, dropping it on the floor. He did the same for the other one. The room suddenly felt very stuffy.

_Stupid body!_ Alfred cried in his mind, shaking the lusty thoughts away. _Stupid Ivan. He did that on purpose!_ His mood was killed by the site of his teeth marks on Ivan's hand. Even now it was an ugly wound.

Alfred winced, remembering it. He didn't enjoy hurting people, not even his worst of enemies. Maybe it was his own insecurity, but he had a way of transforming enemies into rivals and sometimes even friends. Despite all his bluster about not caring what people thought of him, he did and always would. Perhaps that was what drove him more than anything to understand the Russian.

"So as you mentioned earlier," Alfred began, getting to work on Ivan's hand. "If you never talk to people, how _do_ you make friends?"

"Friends?" Ivan said, bemused. "What need have _I_ of friends? I need only people's obedience, nothing more. Their affections are meaningless."

"Geez, but doesn't it get lonely being hated?"

"I have my power to comfort me."

"Harsh man, harsh."

Silence once more blanketed them as Alfred cleaned and bandaged the wound. It hurt him to see what he had done. Ivan was a villain, no question there, but Alfred had not thought himself capable of being one. Yes he was defending himself, but it went beyond just subduing Ivan.

He could still feel traces of that murderous rage polluting his soul like just feeling it had tainted him and made him realize how easy it was for even a hero to become the villain. The shame of knowing he had darkness in his heart hurt.

"Sunflower, something is wrong, da?" Ivan's words shook him out of his reverie.

"I," Alfred began, but his voice failed him. It went beyond last night. In the months before he departed for Canada, he had lived in a village or _state_ as they called them in America. A bully that picked on him throughout their childhoods one day cross the line and grabbed Alfred's glasses, threatening to break them. Alfred had snapped and uppercutted the guy sending him flying several feet.

His glasses, Texas, landed on the ground unharmed. The bully was no so lucky. His jaw was broken and he had to be fed through a straw for several days. After that, no one in the state looked at Alfred the same way again. He had become dangerous in their eyes. He had abused his strength. Their judging eyes had hurt.

_Being strong is scary_, he had thought that day. _Scarier than ghosts_. Setting out a few days later to find his real family, he had sworn never to use this strength again to harm a weaker opponent like that.

Then last night had happened.

"I am sorry," he finished, holding up Ivan's bandaged hand. "For this," and then touching Ivan's temple with his forefinger, "and for that. For all yours wounds."

Ivan appeared aghast. His face held onto that smile, but Alfred could read the subtle feature shifts on Ivan's face that told his real emotions. _When did I become attuned to his feelings_? He wondered, but there a part of him that knew the answer.

"Why do you say that?" Ivan asked, frowning. "You _were_ defending yourself."

"To a point I was," Alfred replied. "But after a point I wasn't. Whether it was right or wrong, it still sickens me that it was _I_ who caused these. I don't enjoy suffering. A real hero doesn't enjoy inflicting pain on even his worst enemy. He stands for justice and for causes all others say are lost."

Ivan looked shaken like something in Alfred's words had pierced him, but his smile quickly returned. Ivan's eyes held a bitter light as he all but spat, "You must be fucking joking! How can you not enjoy pain? Everyone does. Humans are beasts. Heroes don't exist."

"They do," Alfred stated. "If people believe in them."

Ivan met his gaze and stared hard at him, challenging him. Alfred was resolute in his beliefs and that softened something Ivan's eyes. He looked at Alfred as if seeing him for the first time. Really seeing Alfred.

"You are strange," Ivan said, reaching inside his coat, he pulled out Gilbert's dagger and dropped it in Alfred's lap before he could respond. Alfred caught it, stunned.

"W-what are y-."

"You may have a weapon," Ivan said, his eyes on the door.

"Wait, what? Why?" Alfred gaped.

"Shut your mouth. As you say in English, you're letting flies in," Ivan snapped, his eyes thoughtful.

"But why?"

"You may need it if I lose control again," Ivan replied, returning his violet vision to Alfred's. "I will let the guards know that I gave you permission to protect yourself against me."

"You'll what?" Alfred shouted, shooting to his feet. "You're insane! You're giving me a free pass to kill you? How does that make sense? Are you crazy?"

"You always knew that, da?" Ivan replied.

"But why?"

"Matthew," Ivan said as if exhausted by a great weight. "You will not kill me unless you have to. I know that now."

"But that's nuts! You're fucking nuts! You're a crazy, sadistic moron with no redeeming qualities whatsoever and I can't take this!" Alfred ranted, handing the dagger back at Ivan. "You can't do this!"

Ivan looked amused and pushed it back toward Alfred, taking Alfred's hands, he said, "Of all the people I have known, you are the first I trust with such power."

"But you don't even know me," Alfred protested feebly.

"Matthew," Ivan began like a teacher explaining to a slow student, "You could have killed me last night, but you did not. I saw your eyes. The eyes of a kind man. An idiot, but a gentle one. You treasure life in a way I cannot and never will. I trust you with my life.

Alfred stood there, unable to believe what he was hearing. Of all the people to recognize him in the way he had always craved, why did it have to be Ivan. Ruthless, sadistic Ivan. _Wait, did he just call me an idiot?_

"I can't believe your giving me this," he sniffed, his breathe hitching, hot tears stung his eyes and he wiped at them with his sleeve. "Nobody's ever trusted me with a weapon before. I can't tell you how much this means to me," he mumbled, spinning around unable to face the Russian. _Well Gilbert did_, he thought, but that had been different. Rushed and done out of necessity.

Ivan touched his shoulder to turn him around, but he shrugged him off, saying, "Don't look at my face. Tears aren't heroic!"

"As you wish," Ivan whispered in his ear, a blush bloomed across his face at the sound of that husky voice. Those cool lips pressed onto his nape, at first gentle, then they began sucking and biting. Alfred shuddered, heat rushing through his core.

_Ivan has scars, takes pain like a badass, let's me beat him up, and trusts me with daggers_, Alfred thought, realizing, _If he ever makes me a tasty hamburger I will have no choice but to love him forever_. And it was true. Despite his head screaming, "Stay away from Psycho Man!", his heart and cock were yelling, "Go For It! Team Ivan!".

"Ivan, we can't it. It's too so..." He sucked in sharply, one of Ivan's hands traveled under his shirt to rove across his chest while the other went down and cupped Alfred's hardened shaft. Alfred barely had a moment to set aside his glasses and the dagger on the drawer beside him before he was shoved into the wall.

His hands caught him, splaying out against the stone as Ivan rubbed his hardness into Alfred's back. Alfred winced as Ivan's hand touched some of the bruises on his torso, but the mixture of pleasure and pain only made him moan more. Ivan slid his tongue around Alfred's ear and then up until it captured Nantucket.

"Ah," Alfred gasped, his whole body quaking with the sensation of Ivan. "It's...so...good," he managed.

"We have barely begun," Ivan chuckled, his hand creeping under the cloth of Alfred's pants, his fingers curled around Alfred's dick, stroking it.

"More," Alfred urged, his fingers clutching at the granite. "It's...not...enough."

"So needy," Ivan giggled. He yanked Alfred away from the wall and forced his face and stomach against the bed; Alfred's knees went to the floor. Alfred tried to turn over, but Ivan held him fast, telling him, "You said not to look at your face, my Sunflower."

"But!"

"No buts, my Prince, I am respecting you, da?" Ivan said, tugging at Alfred's pants. Ivan nearly tore them off, Alfred just managing to get the buttons unclasped. Alfred had no underwear since he had refused to borrow Gilbert's. His shirt came next, thrown aside, leaving Alfred naked. The chilly air from outside mixed with the warmth still emanating from the fireplace, making him feel a mixture of hot and cold.

Ivan stopped his ministrations only to grab the glass vial of lube and toss off his clothes, then he was back, kissing and sucking at Alfred's bruises, leaving his own marks. Alfred's mind buzzed with ecstasy but the bastard wouldn't let him turn around, determined that Alfred would be the one pleasured.

Ivan's hand was back on Alfred's cock, moving the foreskin up and down, teasing the tip. Alfred groaned, his hips bucking at Ivan's attention, pretty much fucking Ivan's hand.

"Faster," he begged, biting at the sheets, wanting Ivan inside him now. Craving his climax, but Ivan had other plans. "Stop teasing me!"

"But it so fun, Sunflower," Ivan chuckled, removing his hands.

"Nooo!" Alfred whined, he had been so close. He moved to finish himself, but Ivan tutted and grabbed his hand, forcing it back on the bed.

"No spoiling it," Ivan said, forcing Alfred's face back against the bed when he tried to scowl at Ivan. "And no face."

_This bastard!_ Alfred thought, he would yell at him if he wasn't so distracted, humping the bed out of need for release.

Ivan's hand came back to Alfred's cock and the other, covered in lube, massaged against Alfred's hole, lubricating it. _Oh so that's what he was doing_, Alfred realized. The lube was cold and made Alfred's insides tingle. Ivan mouth returned to sucking and biting on Alfred's shoulders and nape.

He gulped in a breathe as Ivan's fingers stretched him, finding something so good. A sweet spot Alfred never knew he had. He pushed against them, wanting that spot hit again. Ivan giggled, letting Alfred ride his fingers for a moment, then he removed them.

"I-Ivan!" Alfred protested. _Why does he keep teasing me?_

His butt cheeks were spread and Ivan's large shaft pressed into them, driving itself in slowly, agonizingly slow, until it filled all of Alfred. Ivan growled in pleasure behind him and Alfred raised his butt, trying to give Ivan a better vantage.

Ivan entered him to the hilt, pushing in and out. The feel of their balls colliding was astounding and Ivan's hand stroked Alfred's dick in time to his pounding.

"I-I-Ivan," Alfred cried, his senses being blown. _This is better than the best hamburger in the world_, he thought, knowing he would retract that later when he was sane.

Ivan slid in and out, harder and faster until he was bent over Alfred, softly biting into Alfred's shoulder, moaning and grunting. Out of the corner of his vision, Alfred could see Ivan's eyes were shut and he was counting again. Alfred smiled. It was satisfying knowing he effected Ivan that much.

"M-Mathew!" Ivan yelled. Alfred frowned, not liking Ivan calling out his fake name like that.

"C-call me...S-Sunflower," he panted, Ivan ramming into him with a steady, _fap-fap-fap_.

"Y-yes," Ivan gasped, gripping Alfred's hips, he went until Alfred's knees were being lifted off the floor with each thrust. Ivan was now wildly fucking Alfred into the bed, his hand and the friction driving Alfred over the edge.

Alfred cried out, his lower body tightening into the orgasm, his muscles contracting around Ivan. Ivan roared with pleasure as both of them came.

(End of Chapter 15. Next chapter goes back to Matthew and the others. **Chapter 16: The Race Against Time**)

(So wow was this chapter hell to write as well. It was so dialogue intensive, but it's over. Now we go back to the others...)


	16. Chapter 16: The Race Against Time

**Chapter 16**

**The Race Against Time**

_(Back to some silliness and plot. I want to thank everyone who's reviewed. Your comments mean the world to me. They're what keep me writing. So thanks guys!)_

_(Okay super pissed at . For some reason ch 16 just disappeared from the chapter list and I had to erase it and re upload it. Which sucks because my hit and visitor list went back to 0 for it. Grrr...)_

The real Matthew was waking up. He lay there for a moment, enjoying the warm sunlight spilling on his face and the toasty blankets he was under. _Was it noon?_ _How long have I been out? _ He wondered, hoping it wasn't Francis who had tucked him into his bed and secretly hoping it was.

People were talking off to the side. Two voices, one loud and brash, the other squeaky and high-pitched, they intruded on his peaceful moment.

"So let me get this straight," Gilbert said, the loud one, "You knew his majesty when he was a tot?"

"Yup, one of those foul-smelling, crawly things," Peter agreed.

"You mean a baby."

"Yeah, one of those."

"You were one of _those_ once too you know."

"Nah, I was too awesome. I was born this way."

There was a pause and a sudden movement that made Matthew jump, Peter yelped, "G-get off me you stupid Prussian brute!"

Gilbert sniffled, saying as he released Peter, "Sorry, I just couldn't help but hug you. I thought I was the only one like that."

"Only one like what?"

"Only one too awesome to have gone through babyhood."

"Yeah, man. I feel you. Hi five?" He heard them slap their palms.

_Who left me alone with these two_? Matthew groaned in his head. He opened his eyes, waiting for someone to realize he was awake, but no one did. He would have to say something.

There was a white lump resting at the foot of his bed. _Kumajiro_, he realized, fumbling a hand around on his bedside table, he found his glasses and slipped them on, the bear coming into focus. Looking toward King Arthur's old oak writing desk, he found Francis leaned back in its companion chair, the one with cream-colored floral cushions. He was reading... Matthew colored.

_Did Lord Kiku lend him that?_ He wondered. It was one of Kiku's pornographic art books and Francis seemed quite engaged with it.

Matthew frowned as Francis turned a page and nodded at something, leaning forward to pluck a pink-feathered quill out of its ink bottle, he jotted something on a piece of parchment. _Is he taking notes?_ Matthew gasped in his head. He couldn't believe it, no wait, he could.

_Oh, Lord take me now_, Matthew muttered in his head, his attention going back to the other two.

"So you're the former Prince of Prussia right?" Peter continued.

"The one and only," Gilbert said proudly.

"The former great Empire?"

Gilbert frowned a little, but said, "Yes, indeed and still the most awesome Empire that ever was!"

"Well then _do_ I have a deal for you! I just so happen to be a ruler of the soon-to-be most awesome Empire ever!" Peter touted.

"Do you now?"

"Yup, I do and I have a fantastic offer for you. For a limited time only you can buy this badass Empire that rose out of the ocean."

"Really?" Gilbert said, smirking with amusement. "I didn't know you could sell Empires."

"Only if they are as awesome as mine," Peter said, adding in a little voice, "will be."

"And the price for this amazing Empire is?"

"Well, that's the _amazing_ news! For a very modest, and might I say reasonable, 700,000 crowns you can own the soon-to-be Empire-of-All, Sealand!" he chirped. Gilbert's eyes widened. "We're in an expanding phase so you better act now!"

"Are you kidding me? 700,000 crowns? I could buy Canada several times with that."

"Yeah, but c'mon it's _Canada_," Peter said. Gilbert's expression darkened and he reached for his hilt. Peter quickly added, "The awesome Canada that is! Ha, ha," Peter laughed nervously, but it worked. Gilbert released his sword.

"Hmm," Gilbert said, tilting his head to the side. "That is tempting. Do you accept third party IOU-nothings for this _Sea Can_?"

"Sealand!"

_That's it!_ Matthew thought. He audibly cleared his throat, sitting up. Francis looked up at him and nonchalantly set the book on the desk without a hint of shame or embarrassment.

"Shhh," Peter hissed, holding a finger to his lips as he glanced about the room. "Did you hear that?"

Gilbert looked around equally confused.

"It was me," Matthew called, his voice almost a squeak.

Peter and Gilbert exchanged a startled look, raised their eyes to the ceiling, and asked together, "God?"

"You _idiots!_" Francis snapped, pointing at Matthew. "It's Mon Cher! He's right there! On the bed!"

Matthew sighed as they finally saw him.

"Oh, of course!" Gilbert chuckled, rubbing his nape embarrassedly as he came over. "Should have known! Hey your Majesty! It's your most awesome Captain of the Guards, Gilbert!"

Matthew frowned at him, which hardly had an effect on Gilbert who sat beside him on the bed.

"How long have I been out?" Matthew asked.

"Oh, about," Gilbert trailed off, glancing over his shoulder at Francis expectantly.

"Three hours," Francis answered, adding, "Three _very long_ hours."

"Three hours?" Matthew gasped. "When did you get here Gilbert?"

"An hour ago."

"And a _very long_ hour that was," Francis said with a shiver as he frowned at both Peter and Gilbert.

"Can't help it if you don't like awesome company," Gilbert laughed, shrugging. Peter nodded in agreement.

"I tried to tell him this was a private meeting, but this brute would not listen," Francis sniffed.

"Sorry, I only listen to his Majesty, not his frog," Gilbert replied, Francis shot him a scowl. Matthew sighed, wishing Gilbert wasn't so blunt like a certain _idiot_ they knew.

"Sorry Gilbert our morning debriefing will have to wait," Matthew said dismissively as Gilbert opened his mouth, but Matthew continued, "Please finish the rest, Peter."

"But you passed out twice! I'm not sure that's a good idea," Peter protested.

"The Little One is right, mon cher," Francis said, Peter glowered at the French lord. "Perhaps we should wait until you are more recovered."

"No!" Matthew said, attempting to sound stern. "I want to hear the rest."

"But should Gil-" Francis began. Gilbert still had his mouth open like he wanted to say something.

"He can stay," Matthew interrupted testily; everyone appeared stunned by it. Inwardly, Matthew smiled, saying to himself, _I can be rude too_. "After all, he is still someone I f_ully_ trust."

Gilbert arched an eyebrow, glimpsing between Francis and Matthew. He shot Peter a questioning look. Peter just shrugged.

"Your words wound me," Francis said, patting a hand where his heart was. _Stay strong_! Matthew told himself, already wanting to apologize to the Frenchman.

"Peter continue please and Gilbert don't interrupt him." Gilbert sighed and closed him mouth, he appeared a little annoyed.

_Our morning meeting can wait_, Matthew thought, annoyed with Gilbert's impatience.

"Well, if you insist," Peter said, "That Jerk King Arthur just kept whining about himself. I honestly didn't know if we would make it out of there alive as I courageously..."

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**Nineteen Years Ago**

_ That Jerk Arthur burst out of the bushes, sword at ready, to find Peter wrapping bandages around the badly injured other Mattie. _

_ "Good God, Peter what did you do to Mattie?" he cried, sheathing his sword and falling beside the child. _

_ "What did I do?" Peter choked in an offended voice. "I didn't do anything! Mattie is over there!" He jabbed a finger where Mattie lay sleeping in the nook of the tree trunk. _

_ The Jerk glanced between the two and then finally realized. "A twin?"_

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**Present**

"Wait! What do you mean twin?" Gilbert gaped. "Since... wait... what did I miss?"

_Nice seeing someone else confused_, Matthew thought and immediately felt bad for taking satisfaction with that.

"Gilbert I told you not to interrupt."

"But," Gilbert said.

"No buts!" Matthew said. "That's an order. No more interruptions."

Gilbert frowned dejectedly, but nodded.

"Continue Peter."

"As I was saying," Peter began, "After putting that Jerk King Arthur in his place," Gilbert opened his mouth again to cut in, but a warning look from Matthew shut his mouth and Peter continued, "Realizing there was little time, I boldly told that Jerk we needed to get them back to camp fast. So we were racing through the forest..."

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**Nineteen Years Ago**

_ "Where did he come from?" The Jerk asked as they both ran, jerk-face Arthur with other Mattie in his arms and Peter with real Mattie. Peter's bag was significantly lighter as they had dumped half the contents out, the Jerk had almost wept leaving the tea set behind, but had realized Peter couldn't carry Mattie and the bag and keep up with the Jerk._

_ "I don't know. He was just suddenly in front of me with a stick. And damn it hurt when he hit. Is that a super baby or what?" Peter huffed, feeling exhausted, but not willingly to give up. While he didn't care for babies, he did have a heart and knew why they hurried. _

_ The Jerk couldn't carry the bag out of fear that he needed to be ready for more Warg attacks. Or at least that is what the jerk told Peter._

_ "Poor Alfred," the Jerk said, holding the child tightly to his chest, being very careful not to shake it too much._

_ "Who?" Peter said and then realized, "You didn't! You named it?"_

_ "What?" the Jerk called innocently from over his shoulder. "A baby needs a name."_

_ Peter groaned, gasping for air, he finally said, "Jerk can we stop? I just need to catch my breathe!" The Jerk halted so suddenly Peter almost collided with his back. _

_ "Hey, watch it!" Peter snapped, but the Jerk didn't even look at him, his eyes staring at something to the left. Peter took his moment and sank to the ground, holding Mattie in his lap as he gasped and sucked in air. His lungs felt on fire and he was covered in sweat despite the cool air._

_ "You are out of shape," the Jerk mused._

_ "Shut it jerk-face King!" Peter growled. "I'm having a bad day! I could use a little sympathy!"_

_ "_You're _having a bad day?" the Jerk noted mockingly. His face was half-covered in shadows. Sunset was near and they were still half an hour from camp. Peter hadn't realized they had gone so deep into this eerie forest. _

_ "Jerk?" He said as the Jerk continued to stare intensely as something and even took a step toward it. "What is it? Another warg?" Peter said, glancing around, adding, "N-Not that I'm afraid or anything."_

_ "That stump," the Jerk breathed. Peter leaned forward, looking past the foliage, he spied a large tree stump, split down the middle and charred like it had been struck by a lightening bolt. A tiny forest of mushrooms surrounded it. _

_ "What about it?"_

_ "That's it!" he said. "That's the gateway," Arthur said. "The legendary split tree that Merlin spoke of. Now let's see I have to make a left and go three steps to the, no wait, was that three big steps or-"_

_ "Jerk! We don't have time for this!" Peter said, getting back to his feet, eager to be out of these woods. Though he wanted to rest longer, he knew Arthur would get distracted by that thing if they didn't go now. _

_ The Jerk nodded, looking around for landmarks, before reluctantly turning away as they resumed running. Peter's eyes went to the dots of blood being left behind from Alfred._

_ "You're right again," Arthur said. "We have to save Alfred."_

He's not going to like what I say_, Peter thought, steeling himself. "Arthur, Jerk, I don't think the boy will last the night."_

_ Arthur stopped, staring over his shoulder at him with those fierce green eyes, "What are you saying?" he inquired in a dark tone. _

_ "I know you don't want to hear it, but look at his injuries. He's as good as dead."_

_ "So?" Arthur asked in a cold voice. "You're not suggesting we leave him?"_

_ "Well, n-not exactly, but I mean the kid has a hole in his stomach I could fit my fist into. I've s-seen wounds like that on soldiers. So have y-you. They die horribly," Peter stammered, lowering his eyes from the Jerk's furious gaze. "M-Maybe we should, you know, put him out of his misery."_

_ "Like a dog?"_

_ "N-no, that's not what I meant."_

_ "What did you mean?" the Jerk inquired, his tone frigid. It actually sent a shiver through Peter that he would never admit to and he backed away. "Peter if you ever suggest something so vile again," he said, his expression blackening as his tone grew in menace, "I swear _you_ will be the one with a hole in your stomach. Do _you_ understand?"_

_ "Y-Yes," Peter said, shrinking away. _What was I thinking?_ Peter felt a wave a shame. He just didn't want the child to die in agony, but he hadn't mean to sound like monster. Arthur whirled around and they continued. _

_ Peter hugged Mattie closer, feeling such pity for the boy who would never know his brother. _

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**Present Day**

There was a loud thud as Gilbert fell off Matthew's bed, saying, "Oops. Well, since you stopped," he began.

"I asked you not to interrupt!" Matthew said.

"And I didn't," Gilbert said innocently. "I accidentally fell over and Peter stopped talking. Majesty, for shame. Have you mercy for your obedient vassal!" Gilbert said, grinning peevishly. Matthew's eyes narrowed as he stared at him.

"So," Gilbert said, hopping to his feet and dusting himself off. "Now that we're taking a break! Will someone explain to me what the fu...," he glanced at Matthew, "what the _maple_ is going on? Since when does Lord Matthew have a twin brother?"

"Since I found out this morning," Matthew answered.

"Wow," Gilbert said, stunned. "Where is he then? What happened to him?"

"That's what I am trying to figure out," Matthew replied, adding, "And Gilbert not a word of what you hear to anyone, especially not Alfred."

"Who?" Peter gaped, confused. Matthew was happy to see another with the baffled look like what Matthew had had all morning.

"Why Alfred in particular?" Gilbert asked at the same time as Peter's "Who?", overriding him. Then his eyes widened as he understanding filled his eyes. "Wait, are you saying that he's..." he trailed off.

Matthew nodded, smiling at Gilbert's quick uptake. He could be quite brilliant at certain things.

"Nah, I can't believe it. That doofus, a Prince?" Gilbert said, cocking his head in thought.

"Wait, who are we talking about?" Peter asked, glancing around, puzzled. Francis' face stayed neutral.

"Geez, this morning is just getting weirder and weirder," Gilbert said, running a hand through his hair. "First, Alfred is nearly killed, then that bas-."

"Alfred was nearly killed?" Matthew and Francis gasped at the same time, except Francis called him "Monsieur". They exchanged surprised glanced. Peter remained ignored and perplexed, and frustrated about both.

"What happened?" Matthew demanded. "Why didn't you tell me right away?"

"Who was it who said the morning meeting could wait?" Gilbert asked, entirely too smug for Matthew's liking. He frowned, not liking his words thrown back at him. "By the way, should the midget hear all this?"

"Midget?" Peter huffed. "I'll have you know I'm still growing!"

"Peter can stay," Matthew said and Peter brightened. "He already knows enough secrets to ruin me. A few more now won't hurt."

Gilbert still looked wary but nodded and continued, "Well, you better brace yourself for another revelation because things have just turned ugly..."

_It's going to be a long day_, Matthew thought.

_(End of Chapter 16: __**Chapter 17: The Nanny King and The Frog) **_

_**( **__Sealand_ and Gilbert's interaction is just so fun to write. One is from a "rising" Empire and one is from a "Fallen" Empire. Hilarity ensues!

Also the "pornographic art book" Francis looks at is not manga. It is _ukiyo-e,_ an old Japanese art, and is in direct reference to a certain Hetalia comic strip where several Western nations are discouraged by Japan's pornography collection.

And it's true. One time when I was in Northern Japan, I went to this _ukiyo-e _museum and at the very end of it was the pornographic stuff and OMG. Japanese tentacle hentai is NOT a modern phenomena. Six hundred years ago Japanese artists were using squids to do unseemly things to their women. *shakes head and shudders* A little disturbing, but to Francis "Japanese ingenuity" would be utterly intriguing.)


	17. Chapter 17: The Nanny King and The Frog

_**Chapter 17: **_

_**The Nanny King and that Stupid Frog**_

(Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! This and Part 2 of this will be my last update until after the holidays. I am going overseas for a couple weeks! When I get back in January I'll start updating again.)

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Matthew massaged his temples, drawing in a deep breathe. _Be calm, just think of something calming_, he told himself, picturing maple syrup running over the edge of a pancake stack. The soothing texture and the sweet scent of the thick fluid all worked to relax him. His panic attack subsided.

Only problem, however, was now his stomach was rumbling, reminding him that he had skipped breakfast, but between Francis' and Gilbert's revelations he had no time.

"Majesty?" Gilbert said, concerned. Matthew met those ruby eyes and then Francis' equally worried ones.

"I'm fine. Really I am," he said, smiling to reassure them. "I'm just considering our next step."

"Next step? The next step is we get him back!" Gilbert declared. "Show that Russian flea whose kingdom this is! I can have a hundred of my most awesome ready by this evening..." he trailed off at Matthew's shaking head.

"Gilbert," he said, "You know it's not so simple. Lord Ivan is not a guest. Nobody volunteers for subjugation," catching the way Francis averted his eyes in embarrassment, Matthew frowned and added, "Nobody _normal_ at least."

"But that boy might be your brother!" Gilbert insisted.

"Whatever the monsieur is," Francis said, "He did agree to this. If Canada defies Lord Ivan, he will bury this land in General Winter's frost like he did my beautiful kingdom for one spring. And if you really anger him he might turn it into a frozen wasteland as he did Iceland."

Matthew shuddered at the thought. He had seen many Icelandic refugees. Canada had accepted them since Ivan had made their home unlivable.

"I'd expect that kind of cowardice from a frog!" Gilbert snapped, turning back to Matthew, "But I know his Majesty would never abandon someone in need. Right?"

"Gilbert," Matthew said, his hands balling into fists around the Maple-Leaf imprinted blankets. This whole situation was getting more complicated with each passing hour. "You know I will do all I can, but my hands are tied. We have to think of Canada first."

_Something I should have done from the beginning. Why did I make such a stupid deal?_ He wondered, guilt stabbing at his heart.

"But it's not right!" Gilbert insisted. "If it had been you he tried to strangle, I'd be busting down the door to drag you back from that beast."

"But it's not mon cher," Francis said, stuffily. Matthew scowled, offended at Francis' tone.

"Why don't you butt out?" Matthew retorted and Francis flinched. "You have fault in this whole mess, too!"

"Pardon?" Francis asked, Matthew knew the man well enough to read his underlying meaning.

"You let me make that awful deal! You stood there, knowing or at least suspecting what Alfred was, and said nothing. And I honestly don't understand why. All these years and not a word until now?" Matthew asked, his voice tinged with hurt.

"Will someone please explain what deal you are talking about and who is _this_ Alfred?" Peter demanded. When no one spared him more than a glance, he crossed his arms with a "hmph" and glowered at the fire place.

Francis sighed, his gaze falling to the floor before traveling back up to Matthew, pausing to admire the V-shaped opening in Matthew's robes that revealed a hint of his bare chest. Matthew's expression darkened and he crossed his arms. Francis snapped out of his lust and met the boy's eyes.

"If you want the truth, I did not really suspect until after the deal," Francis explained. "I had for years wondered. Ever since Arthur entrusted you to me," he said, pausing to let those words sink into Matthew, "But it was only after I observed the similarities between you and Alfred that I started to put the pieces together."

"Wait," Matthew said, uncrossing his arms. He and Gilbert exchanged a bewildered expression. "You were there the day they found me?"

"My forces happened to be in the area of Arthur's camp."

"You were stalking him," Peter stated.

"I was not!" Francis sniffed. "I just happened to be in the area. We may not have been at war, but I had interest in those territories, too."

"Interests that included that Jerk."

"I may have been a tad obsessed with him at the time," Francis admitted, "But do you really think I would go so far as to follow the man into the wild lands like some pervert?"

They all stared at Francis flatly.

"You people!" He spluttered, changing the subject. "None of it matters because that frustrating man had the nerve to vanish the next day before I could ever question him about it all."

Matthew's eyes widened. Gilbert asked first, "Wow, are you saying that his Majesty's discovery and King Arthur's disappearance are related?"

"As far as I can tell," Francis said, nodding toward Peter, "And that connection is another reason I brought _him_ here."

"Shit," Gilbert breathed, glancing at Matthew in embarrassment, he said, "I-I mean _Maple crap_." Matthew shook his head at another of Gilbert's attempts to be polite around him. They were sometimes amusing.

His heart hurt too much to smile at it though. _So this was all for King Arthur? You would risk everything between us for him?_ Matthew thought glumly, resting his eyes on his soft, ivory hands in his lap.

"Lord Francis," Matthew began, his voice tinted with sadness, "So you're saying the story you told me all these years about how we met is nothing but a lie? Whether you knew or not about Alfred, you knew about that. _You_ knew you were lying to me."

Francis nodded reluctantly and said, "Oui."

"Why?"

"Mon cher, whether you believe it or not, I had your best interests at heart," Francis said. "It was a complicated matter as you must realize. If matters about your birthright were brought into question, it could endanger your standing as Prince and your very life."

"But you reveal it now," Matthew said. "Why? Because of Alfred? Because of King Arthur?" _Is that who you are so desperate to find at the expense of our bond?_ Matthew thought as he asked, "How did we really meet?"

"That is a long story."

"I want to hear it."

"You do?" Francis said, hope creeping in his voice. Matthew nodded and then realized what he had done. He wanted to take back his words immediately, but it was too late.

"As you wish," Francis said, throwing out his hands dramatically as he stood up. _Oh no_, Matthew thought_. _Poor Gilbert and Peter didn't know the horror in store for them.

Francis pulled out his lacy handkerchief with a flare of motion and sighed, staring off longingly like he was gazing into the distant past as he began, "_Amour. _Such a sweet word. Its blissful spell filled the air that night. I had just received Arthur's desperate confession of love an-."

"For the last time, that wasn't a love letter!" Peter snapped.

"Shoo," Francis sniffed, waving at him dismissively like one would a pest. Peter gritted his teeth and clutched the top of the sofa. Several colorful metaphors seemed to be teeming in his mouth ready to be screamed at the Frenchman, but Peter swallowed hard and said nothing. He directed all his anger instead at the crackling fire in the hearth.

"As I was saying," Francis continued, adjusting his frilly cufflinks, "I had just finished an absolutely delicious meal of _escargo_. My chef, Antone, had made the sauces just perfect that night. It was so tragic that we could not bring along a proper stove because the dinner really needed some bre-."

Gilbert cut in, growling, "Get to the damn point, frog!" He sheathed his blade with a _shick_.

"I am trying but _rude_ dolts keep interrupting," Francis rebuked. Matthew rolled his eyes knowing full well there was no stopping the French Lord once he started. "Eventually I came to his, ahem, quaint English camp and left my guards at the base of the hill while I visited my sweet. Oh, you should have seen the joy that shone his sparkling, emerald eyes upon the sight of me and the way his gentle voice called out to me..."

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**Nineteen Years Ago**

"Bloody, bloody frog!" Arthur snapped, throwing the cream-colored napkin he was embroidering on the table beside his whicker chair, he stomped over to Francis. "What took you so damn long? I thought I'd be up all night waiting!"

"Aw, you were pining for me?" Francis sighed, fluttering his eyelashes.

Arthur's voice came through clenched teeth as he said, "I wasn't pining and you bloody we-"

"Ah, is that a petunia you're sewing?" Francis interrupted, gazing at the needle work on the napkin. It was just a guess since all he had was the lantern light from Arthur's tent and the stars above to see by, but from Arthur's blushing face, he'd hit it spot on. _So adorable the way he gets embarrassed over his hobbies_, he mused.

"Sh-shut it frog!" Arthur growled, crossing his arms. He was clad in a hauberk and a grass-stained white tunic - _is that blood? _Francis worried - along with his usual tasteless green pants and boots. His eyes fell on what Francis was holding, "What's that? Are those daisies?"

"I thought you would never ask, my darling," Francis cooed, handing them to Arthur who tensed. "They are for you. I had my men pick them from the forest. I rushed over as soon as I could after receiving your love letter."

"L-love letter? That wasn't a bloody love letter!" Arthur yelled, tossing the daisies aside. He looked about to stamp on them, but thought better of it. Francis smiled, knowing that Arthur and he shared a penchant for gardening.

His lips looked so soft and moist. "My love!" Francis cried, lunging at him, his own lips puckered out to capture the Brit's. Arthur dodged, ducking down, he slammed a fist into Francis' gut, causing the French Lord to double over and fall to one knee. Arthur backed away, drawing his sword, his emerald eyes flashed with fury.

He barked out, "You know bloody well better than that frog!"

"I love how you play hard to get," Francis wheezed, wiping tears of pain out of his eyes. How he wished he had worn armor instead of his favorite cornflower blue coat and black hat with a feather plume to match his coat. "Let's not deny ourselves, mon amour."

Arthur's eye twitched, he looked in a killing mood.

The tent flap opened, lamplight spilled across the ground as Peter peeked out, asking, "What's with all the racket? Oh... the frog."

"Would you mind getting us some tea, Peter?" Arthur said in a strained voice as he sheathed his sword. "The fr- Francis here was just having a seat. Weren't you?"

"Oui, mon amour," Francis said, picking up his coat tails as he daintily set himself down in the whicker chair besides Arthur's. His eyes roved over an increasingly furious Arthur.

Trying to hide his scowl, Arthur grabbed his chair and dragged it five feet away from the French Lord before seating himself. "Oh, and Peter," Arthur called, "Would you bring what we discussed earlier?"

Francis raised an eyebrow. Very curious now. _Kinky leather bonds?_ Francis could only hope.

"Yeah, yeah," Peter called back.

"Honestly, that toad has no manners," Francis remarked, "How _do_ you tolerate him?"

"The same way I tolerate other far more annoying people," Arthur replied cooly.

A moment later, Peter showed up with two porcelain tea cups on saucers and set them out. Francis' nose crinkled at the awful odor of that English tea. It was repugnant, but he sipped it anyway and cringed.

Peter disappeared into the tent and Francis thought that was the end of the brat's presence until he returned, this time with a baby in his arms. One dressed in a small, white frock with grass stains.

Peter handed him to Arthur like he were throwing him a sack of potatoes as he said, "Here." Arthur frowned, grumbling at his Page, "That's not how you handle a baby," but Peter shrugged and hurried back inside.

"Oh, is that your son?" Francis chuckled, taking a sip of the vile brew Arthur had concocted, no doubt to torture him.

"How did you know?" Arthur gasped. Francis choked on the tea, coughing and gasping.

(End of Chapter 17. Stay tuned for **Chapter 18: The Nanny King and That Stupid Frog -Part 2**)

(Sorry guys. I keep breaking up the chapters because once it gets past 2,000 words I lose motivation to finish writing it. So it's break it up or lose interest. I favor the first.

I know some fans love the smut way more than the story and I am sorry that we have left Ivan and Alfred for a bit, but I like having a plot too. I find smut fiction that is all about the smut eventually gets boring, at least to me, because every situation is about forcing them into a situation to screw each other. But don't worry I haven't forgotten that and we will turn back soon.)

(Oh, and the next update for Part 2 will be the last until January when I return from visiting my family for the holidays. Part 2 should be up in a couple days.)


	18. Chapter 18: The NK and the Frog pt 2

**Chapter 18**

**The Nanny King and That Stupid Frog**

**Part 2**

(The last update until January. Enjoy!)

_ "Oh, is that your son?" Francis chuckled, taking a sip of the vile brew Arthur had concocted, no doubt to torture him. _

_ "How did you know?" Arthur gasped. Francis choked on the tea, coughing and gasping. _

"My coat," Francis whined, patting at the teas stains now on its front with his handkerchief. "And it was italian!" he pouted as his mind processed Arthur's words. _When did my Arthur?_ He wondered, his mind racing for culprits. "What do you mean son?"

"What do you think I mean?" Arthur replied. "This is my son, Matthew, or Mattie as I call him. Mattie, say hi," Arthur waved one of Mattie's tiny hands and in a childish voice said, "Hi, stupid frog." Francis gaped; his mind blank.

It wasn't that Francis was unaccustomed to baby surprises. He'd done more than his fair share of populating the planet with the little ones, but it was that this was _Arthur_. The man Francis had long believed didn't know how to properly use his dick. Someone he was convinced badly needed Francis' _Divine Rod of Intervention_ to save him from dying an erotically-repressed virgin. _But then who doesn't need my help in such matters?_ He concluded.

Arthur seemed to register some of Francis' confusion and said with a smirk, "He's my _adopted _son, of course."

"Oh, w-well of course," Francis said, his mind still reeling from shock. _Adopted?_ He wondered, _that means Arthur didn't, but wait. "_You're adopting him?" Francis asked still baffled. "I knew you were motherly, but this? Who is he? The son of a friend? An old lover?" The last part really worried him.

"Out here?" Arthur mused, clearly enjoying Francis' bewilderment. "He is someone I found today in the woods. His parents are dead. They were eaten by... wolves," he trailed off.

"Yes, that is tragic," Francis agreed and then Arthur's words registered in his head. "You found him _today?_ And your adopting _him?_" This was too much. "As sad it is, don't you think that's a bit extreme? Why do _you_ have to adopt him?"

"Simple," Arthur answered, "So he can become the ruler of Canada."

Francis nearly dropped the tea cup and saucer onto his already ruined coat, exclaiming, "So he can _what?_" With shaky hands he set them aside on the table not wanting to risk their further presence near him. "My dear Arthur, have you lost your mind? You were joking about that, right?"

"No," Arthur shook his head. "I am dead serious. I'm claiming him as my own so that he can sit on the Canadian throne."

Francis raked his fingers through his silky hair, a nervous habit he rarely showed around Arthur since this situation was usually reversed, he continued, "But, why? Why go so far? And who will accept your sudden claim of an heir anyway? Even if you succeed, he'll be haunted by suspicions his whole life."

"He will," Arthur agreed, explaining, "But they will not dare challenge his right and my claim if the three most powerful Lords of the Kingdoms, You, Lord Kiku, and I, all agree it is so. Not for the throne of a lesser kingdom at least."

Francis regained some of his composure as he mulled over this. Lord Kiku and Arthur were good friends so he would surely help the British King. "And why would I _participate_ in this madness?"

"I thought you would ask that, and no, I will not do any _unsavory_ favors for you," Arthur said, Francis wilted, thinking, _Is he a mind reader?_ "But I will offer you something better."

_Something better than sex with me?_ Francis wondered. _Impossible._

"I will offer you an opportunity to tie your kingdom to the Canadian throne."

_Intriguing, but nowhere near better_, Francis thought, asking, "How so?"

"Because the mother shall be a French noblewoman of your choice and making. One I was forced to secretly wed as part of our truce years ago. A woman who died in labour giving me a son. Forging the documents and lie should be easy for you. You've done such things before."

Francis laughed at Arthur's compliment, saying, "_Merci, mon amour_. I am amused to say the least by your idea. This is why I love you, darling," Those bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown, "It's also nice to see the wildness of your pirate days has not left you."

"Francis, I'm serious."

"Oui, but I'm trying to grasp how this would work. After all, who would believe that I arranged for you to marry a noblewomen when they know about, shall we say, my _affections _for you?"

Arthur crinkled his noise in disgust, but carried on, "You may get excessive with your pursuits, but they, like I, realize that deep down you have a pragmatic side. You know when you have something to gain. And besides, when has marriage ever been a barrier to your skirt-chasing?"

"_Touche_," Francis assented, "But even if on paper it gives my kingdom rights to your protectorate's throne, I fail to see how it guarantees my connection. Treaties and agreements get ignored all the time. What assurance have I that this boy will have loyalty to France?"

A small smile played on Arthur's lips that surprised Francis, but Arthur buried it under a neutral expression. _What is he plotting?_ Francis wondered.

"What are you recommending then?" Arthur inquired.

Francis frowned, suspicious that he was playing into Arthur's hands, but to consider this proposal he would need this condition met regardless. "If that child is going to be of French noble blood, than I want him raised as a proper Frenchman until he is ready to take the throne," Francis replied.

Reluctance danced across Arthur's features as he looked down at Mattie, but when he returned his gaze to France their was nothing but determination in his voice as he said, "I can assent to that."

"You can?" Francis blinked, surprise that Arthur would trust any child to his care, especially after all his accusations of Francis being nothing but a low-down, dirty pervert. _I've been around Arthur too much. I'm starting to agree with his insults_, Francis commented to himself.

"Don't act so surprised," Arthur said. "You are many things, unsavory and worse, but you wouldn't harm a child. _Would you?_," his eyes narrowed.

"Of course not!" Francis said, affronted. "I am a man of honor around the little ones."

"Then, there is no issue. In fact, why don't you and Mattie become more comfortable starting now?"

"W-What are you doing?" Francis stammered as Arthur got up and placed the baby in his lap. He hushed as Arthur's fingers touched his arms, adjusting them around the child. He savored the touch of Arthur, images of those slender fingers, fluttering around his body in other more_ satisfying_ ways, flooded his mind.

Suddenly, he wanted very much to seize Arthur and dip him back in the deepest kiss the repressed King had ever known, but Mattie prevented him from moving. The baby broke his thoughts, from his increasingly perverted fantasy of Arthur, by grabbing his coat and burying his face in Francis' chest.

He had always had a fondness for children, but never it struck him so powerfully. There was something undeniably fascinating about this child. In the blink of an eye, he understood why Arthur wanted to adopt him. He himself, now felt a pull to care for it.

"You said you found this angel in a forest. Do you know why he was there?" He asked, drawing his eyes away from it. A difficult task for him.

"No idea I'm afraid," Arthur said.

"And your certain his parents are dead and he has no connections or kin whatsoever for us to concern ourselves with?"

Arthur paused, a curious expression flitting across his features, before Arthur answered, "None whatsoever."

"And you will send this child to be raised under my tutelage and groomed as heir to Canada's throne?"

"Yes," Arthur answered, "In fact, I'd rather like you to take the child tonight."

"Tonight?" Francis gasped, almost dropping Mattie.

Arthur stepped forward and snapped, "Be careful!"

Francis held Matthew tighter to his breast, unable to believe this, and said, "You really are crazy. Are you trying to make my heart explode? Do you expect me just to waltz back to my camp with _your_ son and say, hey everyone look what Arthur gave me?"

"Something like that," Arthur assented. "You can say in your flamboyant way that you were not satisfied to find the child of a French noblewoman being dragged around in the wild lands by that uncouth king. That's why you came here. You learned of the baby. There are lots of plausible excuses. We all know you are great at making lies sounds plausible. It's the truth you distort."

"I do not!" Francis said defensively and it was nice hearing Arthur praise him. As he thought about some of Arthur's suggestions, he decided they could work with a little tweaking. "And you really want to do this?"

"Yes, I do."

Francis sighed and shook his head, saying, "Then if you feel so strongly about it, I will accept your son, but," he paused for emphasis, "for the risks I am taking by joining this bold lie, I expect more than just a possible claim to the throne. I want some concessions made."

"I figured you would. I have already prepared the document," Arthur said, pulling a thick yellow envelop from under the napkin. Francis had not noticed it before. A circle of unsealed red wax was unmistakable as he handed to it to Francis.

"Ah, another love letter is it?" Francis inquired.

"No, it bloody well isn't!" Arthur snapped.

Francis opened it and unfurled the thick pieces of parchment inside, leaning toward the lamp for better light. His eyes widened as he read it and then he shifted his gaze back to Arthur. "This is...," he trailed off.

"A Letter of Agreement. You'll note my signature and seal on the final page. It is completely legitimate.

Arthur continued, "A quick summary is that, from this day forth, the land of Quebec, shall hereby have the right to recognize French as its official language. It shall be given full autonomy in conducting its internal affairs accept those of foreign matter. All official attempts to Anglicize its people shall be halted and all tariffs between France and Canada shall be removed. France will also now have the right to send an ambassador to Canada and the reinstated right of French nobles to own land within Canada and its claimed territories."

"And you would give all this just for my agreement to back your claim and see this child on the throne?" Francis stated, "I'm truly puzzled to your motivations here."

"Just trust me, I have reasons. Ones I do no care to divulge at this time. Also I believe this child would be a good fit for Canada," Arthur replied. "It's just a feeling."

"This child clearly made quite an impression on you, mon amour. Care to share the details of how you encountered him?"

Arthur went quiet, thinking deeply about something, he said, "Come back tomorrow evening and I will tell you everything. I will be waiting in my tent, alone."

Francis' eyes lit up. _Alone?_ Did he hear that right? Had his dear Arthur come to his senses finally after all these years? "Very well! Mon amour, you will not regret our passionate rondevue!"

Arthur shuddered and said, "I'm sure I won't. And you will take Mattie now and begin making your own arrangements?" He looked so exhausted as if weighed down by something. Francis wanted to pounce on him and comfort him with soft kisses, but instead he stood up, still holding Mattie.

"As you wish," Francis said, as he drew closer to Arthur and said in a low voice, "There is one more thing, my love. What about him?" His eyes flickered toward the tent. "You know I don't like putting my reputation on the line with that _thing _aware of everything."

"Oh, _him_?" Arthur responded in an equally hushed voice, pulling out another envelope, also yet unsealed, from his leather satchel and handing it to Francis, "This will ensure his trust."

While still holding the baby, Francis put the other Letter of Agreement back in its envelope and unfurled the contents of the new one. His eyes widened and a twinkle grew in his blue eyes.

He smiled at Arthur, musing, "So you _do_ have some pirate still left in you."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Ah, what have I agreed to?" Francis moaned, carrying Mattie and the stupid basket of baby supplies Arthur had given him. The child remained dozing in his arms.

_Ah, so cute_, he thought, gazing at Matthew, then shook his head and groaned again, "What have I done?"

The first thing he would do when they got back to camp would be to rid himself of the wretched baby "equipment" Arthur had cobbled together. There was no way a French Prince would be seen in such stuff. No, he would have lacy, silk cloth diapers prepared right away even if he had to have Arthur sew them. Luckily, Francis always kept a ready supply of fine powders and oils that would the child's skin glowing and soft like Francis' own.

_And he will learn what delicious food tastes like_, Francis nodded to himself, wincing that he was doing it again.

The piercing scream of child split the night and he whirled around, staring up at Arthur's tent. "What was that?" he said aloud. Matthew softly sobbed and he saw that the child was squirming, its face pinched with pain. "What is it? Are you hurt?" He asked, adjusting it and patting its back. The pained expression soon fell off Mattie and he went back to sleep.

He took a step toward Arthur's tent, wondering if he should go back. "Do you have a sibling, mon cher?" he asked Mattie, knowing the child wouldn't answer. He just liked to hear his beautiful voice spoken aloud.

_That doesn't make sense. Why would Arthur tell me about one and not the other_?, he pondered. Not wanting to risk another child being dumped on him, he decided against going back. He would ask Arthur about it tomorrow.

Both of Arthur's envelopes were tucked in his inner coat pocket and both now bore the lion's seal.

Arthur was right. Forging the necessary paperwork while a hassle, would not be difficult for Francis. The only problem to this scheme might be Arthur's brothers and Russia. The brothers could be dealt with. Russia, on the other hand, could be unpredictable. They had interests in the territories around Canada, but its tsar was so weak these days it was almost pathetic. When Russia made threats nowadays, nations snickered.

A warm wind blew against his nape and Mattie stirred, giggling at something. Francis felt a strange foreboding in him. His eyes once more went to Arthur's tent, searching for the silhouette of the man within, but he could not see nothing from this distance.

_Why do I feel like my dear Arthur won't be there tomorrow?_ He thought. He shooed away the crazy idea. What was he thinking? Arthur would always be there.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Present Day**

"And so, kissing each tear off his cheeks, I planted a final one on his lips. Having realized the vast superiority of the French ways over his silly English ones, Arthur walked away a changed man. Turning away, I carried Mattie off into the unfettered dark of night. _Fin_," Francis finished, choking back a sob, he dabbed at his eyes with handkerchief, whispering, "So beautiful."

The only difference between Gilbert and Matthew's mutual feeling of _What the maple?_ was that Gilbert was expressing it.

Peter was curled up, asleep, on the sofa. He had conked out within minutes of its beginning. _Lucky bastard_, Matthew thought with envy.

"What the hell?" Gilbert finally said, emphasizing each word. "You don't expect us to swallow that horse crap of a story, do you?"

_Gilbert!_ _ Don't provoke him!_ _It might make him start again!_ Matthew wanted to say, something he had learned the hard way, but Francis spoke first with another sniff. "So crude," he griped. "I would have expected that from an _American_."

"What a very detailed and graphic story that was," Matthew commented, positive ninety percent of it was nonsense and he was being generous, as he tried to cool the mood. Unlike Matthew, Gilbert was not as adept at reading between the lines with Francis.

For example, Francis and Arthur obviously had not had a wild sex romp through the woods, that was only what Francis wished had happened, but it was clear Arthur had caught Francis off guard. Just like his mention of Arthur kneeling before him, holding up Matthew just as a ray of light spilled down from the Heavens, probably just meant that Francis had been very moved when he met Mattie. That news made Mattie happy.

Now that he that thought about it, he should have known all along Francis was lying about their original encounter. That story had been too plausible. Francis had never once distorted it with his perverse and rather vivid imagination.

"Yes, Mattie," Francis agreed. "The only thing marring it is that I told it in as foul a tongue as English," his eyes lit up and he suggested, "That's it! I should tell it in Fre-."

"PETER!" Matthew all but shouted, which for him meant a voice slightly above speaking volume. It was enough to wake Peter who sat up, blinking and wiping a trail of drool off his chin.

"Wha... what?" Peter said sleepily, straightening his blue sailor collar and putting on his hat. "Is there another leak in the fort?" Awareness of his surroundings slowly entered his eyes. "Oh."

"How could you sleep through my tale of undying love?" Francis asked, aghast to realize Peter had heard little of it.

"So Peter is there anything else?" Matthew urged, "Before we break and get lunch? Anything?"

Peter frowned and turned to glare at the fireplace.

"Peter?"

"Hmmm? What's this? People paying attention to me?" He said, "After brushing me off, now you want to talk. Well, I am not gonna tell you anything until someone answers a few of my questions. So there!" He stuck out his tongue at Matthew. Gilbert and Francis shared a frown.

"All right," Matthew said, a little taken aback. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know who the hell this Alfred guy is you keep yapping about!" he retorted.

"Who is he? Well, isn't it obvious? We suspect he might be my long-lost twin."

Peter laughed and turned toward him, sneering, "You need your ears checked, buddy. Did you not hear earlier when I described his wounds? What do you think happened to Alfred?"

Matthew paled and deep down, a part of him that he would never admit to, was relieved.

"So you're saying it's impossible that he's my twin? My twin is...,"

"Dead," Peter said. That thought did sting. Not being related to the alive Alfred would make things easier, but the idea, of his twin dead, hurt.

"You never mentioned his injuries or this when I questioned you," Francis sniped.

"Oh, did I leave that out?" Peter said, glancing over his shoulder. "Oops, it must have slipped my mind because I wanted a certain frog to go hopping off after dead ends and leave me alone."

"_You!_" Francis said, jumping to his feet, his face colored with rage. It shocked Matthew because Francis never blushed or got angry like this. "You dare make a fool of me in front of mon cher?"

"You're the one that dragged me here, chasing after the ghost of your sick, twisted, perverted fantasy!" Peter said, going to his feet. "I'm not sorry in the least if you wasted your time! That's what you get for threatening my great-soon-to-be-Empire!" Peter laughed.

Francis looked livid and Matthew was out of the bed, Gilbert on his feet, ready to jump in and pull those two apart.

"Did you see his body?" Gilbert asked in a cool, but commanding tone that sliced in between the toad and the frog. They blinked and stared at their interruptor.

"Well, uh, no, I mean y-yes! I did! So we can stop with this nonsense!" Peter stammered.

"Is it yes or no? And Peters while you're good at omitting things, you stink at lying," Gilbert warned.

Peter looked at his feet, shuffling them uncomfortably as he muttered, "No. I didn't see a body."

"Then how do you know he died?" Gilbert asked. Matthew was surprised but Gilbert could be level-headed when he wanted to be.

"His injuries of course! Haven't you been listening you lughead?" Peter insisted. Francis caught the mistake just as Matthew did and they both exchanged a look.

"If he died of those wounds, why didn't you see his body?" Francis asked in an icy tone.

Peter went rigid.

_He's hiding something_, Matthew realized.

"Th-the Jerk didn't want me to s-see it!" he spluttered out, sweat beading his forehead. He started rubbing his hands together and clutching as his shirt. "Said it would be wrong."

"Another lie," Gilbert accused.

"Monsieur, you are a dreadful liar," Francis accused.

"I'm not lyin...," he trailed off his eyes going wide as Francis' hand slipped into the French Lord's coat and grasped something. A paper by the sound of it. "You wouldn't."

"Try me, monsieur."

Peter gulped.

(End of Chapter 18.

Alas, we're not even halfway done with this story. Yeah, between the smut, the fluff, and the plot it just keeps expanding. Hope you are enjoying it!

On a side note, there seems to have been confusion about the Francis' joke. No, he and Arthur did not have sex. That was just Francis exaggerating and distorting the truth with what he wanted to happen. Sorry if that wasn't clear.

The next chapter will conclude the flashbacks. Here's a teaser:

Peter woke early that morning to a dark premonition. Off above the forest to the West, black clouds broiled above and lightening lashed the land. As he made his way to Arthur's lonely tent a dreadful feeling grew in him...

A storm is coming. Prepare yourself for **Chapter 19: Enraged Skies)**


	19. Chapter 19: Enraged Skies

**Chapter 19: Enraged Skies**

(Merry Christmas! I ended up writing this while on the long plane ride. I guess it just came to me. So I'll update after all. Can't guarantee updates until mid-January, but I managed this. Enjoy!)

Matthew watched a droplet of sweat roll down Peter's brow and drip off the small man's nose. Peter glanced about the room, searching for an escape. His eyes settled on Gilbert.

"H-hey, Gilbert. Help a buddy out?"

"Sorry, _little_ buddy, but I'm loyal to his Majesty," Gilbert said, pulling out his sword and a black stone from his belt satchel, he began to sharpen his blade with an intimidating _swick, swick._

"M-Mattie!" Peter pleaded, locking on the Prince. "I'm not supposed to talk about it. The Jer- I mean the Jerk King Arthur, your father, made me promise."

"Since when did a promise to Arthur ever matter to you?" Francis inquired.

"Sometimes they matter! It was a big promise!" Peter insisted.

"Peter," Matthew said, "While I respect your loyalty, if it involves Alfred, I think you should tell."

"No! You're all a bunch of bullies!" Peter pouted, shaking his head. "I refuse!"

"Then you leave me no choice," Francis said smugly, pulling out a yellow envelope from inside his coat. It had red circle of wax on it, the imprint of the Lion Seal was unmistakable.

"That's King Arthur's seal," Matthew remarked.

"You bastard frog!" Peter cried, stomping a foot. "You have no right!"

"I have every right, monsieur. The King you are being loyal to gave me that right the night I received mon cher," Francis retorted, waggling the envelope. "That's how little he trusted you. This was to threaten you to silence. Who knew you could actually keep a secret?"

"Francis, that's enough," Matthew said, a little perturbed about how much the French Lord was enjoying this.

Peter brightened up a little with hope, his eye pleading with Matthew as he said, "Lord Mattie, you are kind and gracious. Surely you understand."

Matthew regarded him and then turned to Francis and in a neutral voice said, "Lord Francis."

"Oui, mon cher."

Holding up his palm, he said, "Please give me the envelope."

"But mon cher! This toad knows somet-."

"I am aware of that," Matthew interrupted. "Please trust me."

Francis nodded and reluctantly came over and handed it to him. Gilbert moved aside as Matthew got up, still dressed in his red robe and opened the contents. The envelope had been opened before.

He paused to glare at Francis who was to trying to peek down into Matthew robes. Matthew took a step away as Francis didn't shy from his dark look but instead raised a suggestive eye brow.

_Darn perverted Frenchman,_ he thought, pushing his glasses up as he read. Folding it up, he stuffed it back in and looked at Peter who had a hopeful expression.

"Peter, will you share with us the rest?"

"I-I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Won't."

"And why not?"

"Because I'm not supposed to."

"Is that the only reason?"

Peter furrowed his brow and said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

"Lord Francis."

"Oui, mon cher."

"This letter gives you permission to dismantle Sealand correct?" Gilbert nearly dropped his sharpening stones at those words, Matthew continued, "To enter English territory and take it apart?"

"Oui."

"Getting the necessary French forces for that will take some time, right?" Matthew said, turning his gaze toward Peter as he spoke the next words, "Would you like to use Canadian Mounties instead?"

Peter's jaw dropped and Francis broke into a proud, still very lewd, smile. "Oui, Mounties will work fine."

"You fiend! You Canadian bas-," Peter stopped at a hard look from Gilbert who gave his blade a very audible _swick_. "You not so nice guy!"

"As much as I respect and admire your want to keep King Arthur's secret," Mattie said, "Other lives are involved and we need to know everything that concerns Alfred and him. So please tell us the rest, or by God I _will_ help Francis take apart your beloved fortress."

"Evil. So evil!" Peter muttered, sitting down heavily on the couch, he said, "Fine! You win! I'll tell you about that day, but if you faint again don't expect an ounce of sympathy from me!"

Matthew nodded. _Fair enough_, he thought.

Peter began, "So while that stupid, ugly, utterly ridiculous, frog-eating frog talked about with that stupid, bastard of a Jerk King of Jerks, I..."

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**Nineteen Years Ago**

The Jerk was nuts. It was obvious. _Evidence?_ One might ask. Peter had plenty. Take for example the Jerk's reply to Peter's question of, _Why don't you keep guards around your tent?_

The Jerk's reply, "_Guards? Why do I need guards? I've set up all the proper wards"_

_ Peter stares at him._

_ The Jerk sighs and explains, "Wards are protective spells, Peter."_

_ Peter continues to stare, but now he's gaping. The Jerk sighs heavily and walks off. _

_ More evidence?_ One might ask. One need look no farther than his white steed, Unicorn. A horse the Jerk believed descended from a magical being that Peter could never remember the name of. Something that started with a U? _What was it?_ Peter would often wondered, tying Unicorn to his post outside the Jerk's tent. But, yeah, he actually believed his horse was magical.

And it wasn't just that. The Jerk believed the hauberk and tunic he wore were ancient relics passed down his line from Merlin; AND that each had spells woven through them to shield the Jerk from danger.

_Good Lord, he needs help_, Peter often though. One might wonder why his "fitness" to rule wasn't questioned more. Peter knew the Jerk tried to hide his beliefs, but everyone seemed to know about them anyway. So he was puzzled by this, until first week into his journey with the Jerk, he witnessed this drunken brawl between the Jerk's soldiers:

_Peter sat at a table to the back of the pub, nursing his ale. He didn't like being rushed to drink. He'd sip it when he was ready. Off a couple tables away, two soldiers were arguing. The taller one, Charles, suddenly stood up, throwing the table aside as his friend, Ben, stood up, equally angry. _

_ Charles shouted in a slurred voice, "Bloody thievin' wanker!" and then launched himself at Ben. The two rolled around, punching and kicking each other, until they were pulled apart by others. They only finally calmed down when a friend of theirs suggested:_

_ "Maybe," he began in a serious voice, "It was the gnomes that stole your coins, Charles."_

_A hush fell over the room, several people gasped. Peter glanced around, cocking an eyebrow at all the somber, contemplative faces. _

_ "Oh my God," Charles said, clapping a hand to his head. He glanced at Ben with a guilty expression and said, "I didn't think about the bloody gnomes! I shoulda' thought of that! Can you ever forgive me, Ben?"_

_ Peter's jaw just dropped in a silent, "Are you fucking kidding me?"_

_ "No harm done!" Ben said, dusting himself off as picked up his front teeth off the floor and wiped the blood off his chin. "Those bloody buggers are crafty, I tell ya! But you know what's worse? Pixies!"_

_ "Oh, I know! They tickle my nose all night!" Someone chimed in, more complaints of pixies and pesky gnomes soon followed. Mugs were soon clinked and everything went back to before, except for Peter who sat there gaping, dumbfounded. _

That was the last time he went drinking with the Brits anywhere whether camp or the towns they were passing through. But he understood that night why the Jerk was the unquestioned King of England. They were as crazy as he was. Believing in fairies and pixies. What rubbish!

_It's a wonder he hasn't been assassinated!_ Peter thought as he carefully peeled off Alfred's bloody bandages. _And he invites the Frog out here! Now that pervert knows where he is and that he's unprotected_, Peter added with a shake of his head.

They were outside talking while Peter was inside, looking busy and listening. He was taking his time with Alfred wanting an excuse to stand at the work table that stood before the tent's center pole, the closet to the entrance. The Jerk's vials, herbs, tonics, and his damn tome were laid out neatly on it.

The whicker basket with blankets folded in it for bedding that they kept Alfred in as a makeshift crib dominated the center of the table. The Jerk's cot sat off, made with a green blanket, in the left corner, a large oak chest at its feet. In the right corner was a small pit of coals with a tripod and a cauldron. What the Jerk often used for "cooking" or torture potions as Peter liked to call them.

Peter winced as the last of Alfred's stomach bandages came off, revealing the disgusting hole in the child's stomach. The tears of flesh were lined with pus and it was obvious despite their best attempts, it was getting infected. Blood spots stained the blankets below Alfred where his wounds had leaked. Alfred, himself, looked pale and weak. Each breath he drew was raspy and troubled.

The Frog and the Jerk's voice suddenly dropped real low. _Their talking about me_, Peter thought, frowning. That was never a good sign. After a moment they said good bye, Francis trying to give the Jerk a good-bye kiss was lightly rebuked, aka threatened with another punch.

_Thank God that frog is gone_, Peter thought as the Jerk entered looking somber.

"Sure it's a good idea trusting him with Mattie?" Peter asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "But I had to."

"Why? So he could rule Canada?" Peter asked, wrapping the bandages very carefully around Alfred's waist. The baby tensed, drawing in a shaky breath with each movement.

"How is Alfred?" the Jerk asked, coming over.

"Same as bef-," he was cut off. Alfred's eyes shot open and he let out an ear-piercing shriek. His whole frail body seized up and his little hands clenched around the blanket. Peter froze.

"Peter!" the Jerk cried, rushing over, he shoved Peter aside, placing a hand on the child's forehead and stomach. He chanted and Alfred calmed down, once more falling in that half-dead sleep.

"I was just changing the bandages!" Peter said defensively.

The Jerk ignored him and continued his weird _healing spell_ as he called it. Though he hated to admit it, it did seem to relax Alfred if nothing else.

"You're right. It wasn't you," the Jerk agreed. "There, there poppet. It's over now," the Jerk said, patting Alfred's head. He set to wrapping the gauze around the child as Peter had been before. "It's a good sign that he still has the strength to cry so loudly."

"What happened?" Peter asked.

"We separated the twins," he replied off-handedly.

Peter frowned, thinking about that. "You're saying he shrieked because Mattie was taken away from him?" He asked, arching an eyebrow. How did that make sense?

The Jerk nodded, explaining, "I had my suspicions. Twins are often close, but those two are more so than others. They are bound by something more than blood. I can't tell what, but they didn't like being pulled apart."

Peter could see where this discussion was heading and said, "Riiight, whatever you say."

"Peter, your skepticism of magic astounds me. Have you ever wondered about why you are so resolute that it's not possible?"

"No," Peter answered. "Because I know it's not."

"Even if magic is performed in front of you, you refuse to recognize it for what it is," Arthur stated, finishing with Alfred's bandages. He met Peter's eyes, adding, "You are the worst infected I have ever seen."

Peter sighed, knowing he would regret this as he asked, "Okay, what am I infected with? Rational thought?"

"No, Merlin's curse."

_Oh boy_, Peter thought, rolling his eyes. _Here we go again._

"I've told you before about the ancient War of Summer and Winter, correct?" Peter nodded, not wanting to retort, "_Yeah, but I never listened_." Arthur continued, "After that, the Western Kingdoms were devastated and Merlin decided that magic was too dangerous for humans to use. He spent his remaining years developing a curse, a curse of skepticism, that would wipe out mankind's belief in magic. He succeeded, but it worked beyond his own expectations and now, hundreds of years later, there are few in our Western kingdoms who even accept charm magic."

"A curse of skepticism? I doubt that," Peter remarked, crossing his arms. "Okay, let's say it's true. Why aren't you and your English affected?"

"Some are, and it grows worse with time in Britain, but my people and land has magic in is veins so we are very resistant to the curse. Far more than other lands."

"Okay," Peter said, shaking his head, "So let me get this straight. Merlin cursed the entire population? Quite impressive."

"He was a great wizard, the best there ever was," Arthur replied. "He was also clever. He knew he couldn't curse the whole world at once. Instead he created an infectious curse. An enchantment that would spread from person to person until all were infected by its contagious magic."

"Okay, I'm having real problems listening to this," Peter said, wanting the subject dropped. It made his head hurt when he thought about it.

"It's painful isn't it?" Arthur agreed. "You aren't the only one. Most people can't accept the possibility of magic anymore. Charm magic such as changing one's eye color and such is now brushed off as parlor tricks."

"About the frog," Peter said, desperate for a new subject, "Is it wise trusting him? I thought he was your enemy."

"And he still is, but I know he would not harm that child. He's not evil in that way."

_Hmmm, maybe I can use Mattie's situation for blackmail?_ Peter mused, but the Jerk seemed to read his thoughts.

"Peter, if you ever dare mention what you've heard tonight, I will see Sealand destroyed," Arthur warned.

"You wouldn't," Peter snapped, glaring at the Jerk. _How did he know?_ He wondered, alarmed. _Did I say my thoughts aloud again?_

"Don't try me Peter."

"As if I would consider such a low thing!" Peter huffed. "What kind of man do you take me for? Using a child's secret for ransom! I'd never!" He lied, contemplating if he could get away with it.

Arthur just stared at him, then said, "You should go to bed, Peter. Dawn is but hours away."

Peter yawned a little and nodded, asking, "Are you sure? Can you take care of Alfred alone? Maybe we should get others to help?"

"No," Arthur said softly, his shoulders sagging. His face looked defeated and thoughtful. "He cannot be saved by human means."

_What does that mean?_ Peter wondered, but he didn't want anymore magical discussion. "Well, if you're sure. I'll be heading off."

Arthur nodded, gazing at Alfred. Peter was sure the kid would be dead by tomorrow.

"See ya tomorrow then," Peter said, heading out.

Arthur stopped him, saying, "Peter."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you... for everything."

Peter almost fell over. He couldn't believe it. _The Jerk is thanking me?_ He wondered, responding in an embarrassed voice, "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Then he left.

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Light flashed before him, turning the inside of Peter's eyelids red. A crackle of thunder followed, fully waking him from his not-quite-a-nightmare. He cracked open his bleary eyes and stared past the foot of his cot.

One of his tent mates, a squatty page, was busy throwing on the last of his gear. Propping himself up on his elbows, Peter watched the boy hop to the left and out of the tent still tugging on his boots.

"In a hurry?" He mused, noticing his other two tent mates were also gone, their cots tidy and made.

Lightening flashed again, turning the inside of the tent blue for an instant; more thunder grumbled, shaking his cot slightly. Peter sat up, telling himself, _I'm not scared of a little storm_. His eye flickered to the tent flap that persistent gusts of wind kept slapping open, invading the tent with their scent of oncoming rain.

Weather like this reminded him of why he missed his beautiful fort.

He flinched a little as the hunting dogs began barking and howling. Soon the chickens were screeching as well and the horses where whinnying. If Peter didn't know better, they sounded frightened.

_Ridiculous_, he grumbled in his head, throwing his legs over the edge of the cot and letting his socked feet rest on the grass. He bent over and pulled out a basket that had his clothes. Tossing off his white cotton pajamas, he put on his blue khakis, shirt with a sailor collar, and of course, his cap, before he drudged over to the water basin.

He stuck his hands in and yelped, leaping away. "The hell?" he said. The water was frigid which didn't make sense on such a humid morning. Frowning, he rinsed his face anyway, shivering at the icy liquid.

A loud peal of thunder rattled the tent. The animals sounds became a frenzy, the dogs barking transformed into pained yips and the horses almost sounded like they were screaming.

"Wow! Wow! Stop!" He heard a man crying outside his tent as he looked to the silhouette of the guy and the horse he was on. The horse was bucking wildly; it threw the guy off and galloped away. He heard people rush over as the soldier picked himself up, cursing and muttering about the damn beast.

"Crazy," Peter said aloud, patting his face dry with a nearby towel. Attempting to soothe his growing unease, he sung the lyrics of Sealand's National Anthem:

_Oh, Sealand, the great, great Empire,_

_ Best in all the land,_

_ Sitting shiny on the sea!_

_ Glinting Fort of steel and stone,_

_ How I bow and sigh in awe of thee,_

_ Because I'm the stupid Jerk of England!_

One day he would finish writing it, the greatest National Anthem ever for the soon-to-be Greatest Empire ever. _One day_, he assured himself. _One day._

Another flash of light and clap of thunder jarred him, so not making him squeal like a girl. So not.

"Dammit!" he growled, tossing the rag aside, he stomped out of the tent. Moist air blasted his face, almost knocking off his hat, but he caught it and clapped it to his head with his hand.

_ Not today you jerk storm!_ he thought, smirking, but it quickly fell off as his jaw dropped. Chaos surrounded him. All around soldiers and servants were scrambling this way and that, chasing after animals or trying to keep things from being blown away.

In fact, three chickens went squawking by, feathers fluttering everywhere, as a young servant boy chased after them, yelling, "Stop! Stop! Bloody stop!"

A sight that normally would have made him chuckle, barely registered. His eyes became glued at what dominated the eyes of other non-busy folks. Above the Yellowstone Woods was something he had never seen the like off. Black clouds spiraled over it like a gigantic whirlpool of darkness in the sky. Tongues of lightening forked down from the broiling black clouds several times, striking into the treetops, eliciting more rumbles of thunder.

Peter felt a pit of what he would not admit was fear welling in his stomach as his eyes went further up. The edge of the storm was overhead, rotating, growing outward as it blotted out the dawn sky and shrouded the camp in an eerie darkness.

Peter swallowed hard, biting his thumb nervously, he told himself, _It's not magic! It's not!_.

Someone screamed behind him and Peter whirled around on his heel to see a servant boy a few feet away staring open-mouth at a bucket that lay on the ground before the lad. He was pale with fear and Peter finally grasped why. Blood. The bucket was in a puddle of it and more was oozing out of it.

The boy fell over backwards, scrambling away as others rushed over. He cried, "I-It was water a moment ago! I-I don't understand!"

As if the previous insanity wasn't enough, he heard people yelling behind him and turned back toward the woods to see what they were pointing at. Beasts of every shape and size were pouring out of the forest's edge, fleeing some unknown terror.

Dread swelled in his stomach and his eyes lifted up the hill to the Jerk's tent. He stared at it. Something was missing. He realized what. Arthur's white steed, Unicorn, always tied to the post beside the tent, was gone.

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"JERK?" he called, throwing the tent flap aside and ducking in. He scanned around. Everything was as last night. The only difference was no Jerk, no Alfred, that stupid tome book was gone and there was a black cauldron near the back suspended by a tripod over some coals.

_Please tell me he wasn't cooking_, Peter thought.

A flutter of paper caught his eye and went around the work table to find an envelope pinned on it by a simple dagger with a leather handle. The Jerk's tiny, neat handwriting was unmistakable as was Peter's name on the front.

Yanking out the dagger, Peter tossed it aside, and pulled out the thick sheets of parchment, unfolding them. Some of it looked official, but it was the top two pieces that got his attention. They were addressed to him.

Several strong gusts rattled the tent as he read, the storm drawing closer, but he hardly noticed. His heart thudded, dread pulsing through his veins.

_ Dearest Peter,_

_ By the time you find this letter, I shall be gone. I have taken Alfred with me. That child deserves a chance at this world and I intend to give it to him. There is a place, though you refuse to believe in it, where he can be saved. Do not try to find us. You cannot follow where we will go. If you do not see me again, assume I have failed and that both of us are dead. Make all necessary arrangements._

_ There is little love between you and I, but if you have shred of decency than I ask that you never share Matthew's secret with anyone. In return for your silence, I have enclosed a letter stating that the Kingdom of Britain will recognize Sealand..._

Peter's eyes widened as he glanced at the back pieces of the parchment and saw Arthur's lion seal and signature. His mouth went dry. It was true. He went back to the letter.

..._I also ask that you never speak of Alfred to anyone. Whether I fail or succeed, it is best that those two brothers never know of each other. It would complicate things further. I have also enclosed a letter for Lord Kiku and ask you to please see that he receives it. _

_ My final request of you is that you do not share the contents of this letter with anyone, especially the Frog. _

_ Your friend,_

_ Arthur_

_ P.S. _

_ I made you stew. It's in the iron pot._

His eyes flew to the cauldron as he whispered, "Is he trying to kill me?" His words felt lifeless.

A couple water drops landed on the letter, staining the yellow parchment brown. He blinked, wondering if the tent was leaking, then he realized they were from the warm tears trickling down his face.

"Stupid Jerk," he muttered, wiping them furiously off with his sleeve. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid Jerk!"

Peter's knuckled turned white from how hard he gripped the letter, crinkling it, he re-read it again. His whole body trembled with anger and another feeling he would never admit to.

"Stupid selfish jerk!" he cried, scrubbing off more of the unwelcome liquid jerks that had the audacity to spring from his eyes. He was Peter. He didn't cry for that Jerk! Yet what was this sadness? "What did you do?" he sobbed, a crackle of thunder punctuating his words, he sank onto his knees and despaired.

Arthur was gone.

When he calmed down enough, he stuffed the letter in his pocket and ran toward the camp, waving his arms and shouting, "To arms! To arms! The Jerk King is missing!"

At first they didn't hear him above the howling winds, but eventually they understood. Raindrops began to pelt the land as the angry skies beat at their camp.

They would search for weeks, the Frog's forces even joining to scour the land, but the would only find his noble steed, Unicorn, wandering the outskirts of the Yellowstone Woods. His emerald-eyed rider was never recovered.

(End of Chapter 19. Next one will be a short one and probably won't be released until January, depending on whether I have time. Some Ivan and Alfred at the end. Stay tuned for... **Chapter 20: Roadblock**)


	20. Chapter 20: Roadblock

**Chapter 20: Roadblock**

**(**An update! Short chapter, but you will get a little Ivan and Alfred at the end.)

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**Present Day**

"So cool as a cucumber, I headed back to camp, immediately ordering the British and French forces to find the Jerk King at once. Realizing their puny powers would not be enough, I summoned the Internationally Recognized Armies of Sealand to fi-."

Francis snorted loudly, interjecting with, "Pardon? You commanded who? Who is puny?"

"You and the English, of course," Peter replied as if addressing a slow learner, "Having trouble hearing? Must be old age, you should get that checked on, along with other things."

A dark air filled the room as Francis approached Peter, a warning in his voice as he said, "Monsieur, if you are daring to imply that I ha-."

"Enough you two!" Gilbert boomed, speaking for Matthew who had been trying to intervene, but had either been ignored or not heard.

Francis and Peter jerked their eyes away from each other with a sniff. Matthew rolled his eyes. _Those two_.

"Peter, do you have the letter?" Matthew asked, at Peter's confused face, he clarified, "The one Arthur left you the morning he disappeared."

"Oh right," Peter said, nodding. "The one you forced me to tell you about though it said not to tell anyone. That one, correct?"

"Yes," Matthew answered, frowning.

"Well, of course I do," Peter said, throwing his hands up, "Because you know, I keep ultra-top-secret-letters on my person at _all times!"_

_ "_You know, your sarcasm is really starting to piss me off," Gilbert said, locking his gaze on Peter.

"Yeah, we'll you all are _pissing_ me off," Peter retorted, crossing his arms.

"Fine, but do you _have_ the letter?" Matthew asked in a slightly angry tone. "I would really like to read it, please."

Peter's eye flickered between Francis and Gilbert's mutually threatening gaze, his scowl only deepening. _We're getting nowhere with this_, Matthew realized, hitting upon an idea.

"Hey Peter," he began, "If you get me that letter as fast as you can, Canada would consider recognizing your kingdom."

Peter's somewhat bushy eyebrows shot up and he looked at Matthew, "It would?"

Matthew nodded.

"I don't know," Peter said, "Just considering isn't the same as recognizing. I consider a lot of things."

"I cannot promise anything, but I can swear to use all my powers to sway the House of Dukes to recognize Sealand. You have my word," Matthew said. "I'll even pen that down."

Peter's face lit up at the possibility as he said, "You would really bring it up?"

"Britain already recognizes Sealand. I'm sure they wouldn't be that against it," Matthew said. "But only if you get me that letter as fast as you can."

Peter nodded, unable to hide his glee, "I'll get it right away," he agreed, adding, "But you better keep your word."

"I never go back on my promises," Matthew said, realizing too late that was the wrong way to say it as Peter winced, reminded of the promise he had just broken. "Peter, did you ever actually swear to Arthur to keep the secret?"

"Well, no," Peter said, shifting around uncomfortably and then he grasped it too. "No, I didn't actually."

"Then you didn't really break your word, now did you?"

Petter nodded along.

"Francis," Matthew said, "Please lead Peter out so he can head for his kingdom."

"But Mon cher," Francis groaned.

"Please do me this favor. I need to speak with Gilbert."

Francis nodded and sniffed for Peter to follow. Peter narrowed his eyes and followed him up the stairs and out. When they were gone both Matthew and Gilbert relaxed, slumping on the couch.

"Thank God, they're gone," Gilbert said. "I didn't know who I wanted to punch more."

"I don't want to punch anyone. I don't like violence except in hockey," Matthew said, "But Peter was getting under even my skin."

"So what do we do now?" Gilbert asked.

"Well first, we make it clear that you do not speak of this to anyone without consulting me first. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Second, we have to determine if Alfred really is my brother."

Gilbert nodded, saying, "Not easy given that he has no scars and even if your brother had survived his injuries, he'd still have scars from such a nasty wound."

"Well he must have scars somewhere."

"Nope, I saw him buck naked and not one was on him," Gilbert replied and then blinked at Matthew's expression. "What?"

"Why did you see him naked?" Matthew asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," Gilbert trailed, scratching at his temple. "I guess I left that out of my awesome heroic story from this morning. Yeah, he ran into my room without a stitch on him."

Matthew arched an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me that way!" Gilbert muttered, getting nonplussed, "The only people I want to see naked are hot babes!"

"So," Matthew said, changing topics, "You're sure he's scarless?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Then it can't be him, right?"

"Not unless there was some magical cure for mortal injuries."

Matthew grew quiet and then suggested, "Maybe Arthur really did find the fairyland then?"

Gilbert chuckled, shaking his head, "I didn't say that! Let's not get carried away."

"But you heard the story! Several of Arthur's books suggest that magical creatures did once exist. If they once existed maybe some still do," Matthew said, gesturing at the book shelf above Arthur's desk.

"Yes, but that was King Arthur."

"But what if it was true? What if people really are under a curse? I have always wondered why people deny magic. There are some who don't even believe in General Winter's curse even though Ivan has used it! I've always wondered where this denial comes from."

"Some people just don't want to believe in such things."

"But maybe it's all true. Maybe Arthur was right."

"You're suggesting then that Alfred really is your brother and that Arthur found some miracle cure in the fairy land?" Gilbert chuckled.

"Well, I'm just saying it's a possibility," Matthew said defensively.

"Okay, let's say that happened," Gilbert said with a small shake of his head, "Then where is Arthur?"

"Still in the fairy land?"

"Like as in, trapped?"

"Perhaps," Matthew said, unable to meet Gilbert's face. He felt so embarrassed suggesting such silliness was possible. It was so difficult to talk about magic with people. "My fath- I mean, King Arthur, would never have abandoned his duties willingly. If he could come back, he would have."

"But then why could Alfred get out and not he?"

"One thing is clear, we won't know more until we talk to Alfred."

"Just one problem with that," Gilbert said, rubbing the back of his head, "Ivan has that boy locked up tighter than a drum."

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Ivan lay, feeling blissful, snuggled against his pet, his Sunflower, his beautiful Mattie's back. Ivan had one leg draped possessively over his Mattie's thigh and his arm wrapped around his Sunflower's chest. Ivan kissed the top of that soft, golden head, smiling. He could stay like this forever.

The years ahead seemed so much brighter when he pictured them with his Sunflower asleep in his arms like this, cuddled against his chest. _Yes, this is perfect_, he thought, his eyes drooping. He needed to go, but he supposed a small nap wouldn't hurt. He had just won back his lovely Prince.

Not long after they made up, lunch had arrived and his Sunflower had scarfed it down. When he was done, Ivan had pounced on him. They made love again, Ivan driving the Prince deep into the bedding with each thrust until his Mattie had squealed his name. Such a beautiful sound it had been.

Spent, he had collapsed on top and his exhausted Sunflower had fallen asleep, leaving him to admire that peaceful, gorgeous face as he positioned the boy against himself.

_Yes_, he thought, flicking the boy's cowlick and watching his Mattie let out a breathy noise, _I can take a little nap_. Ivan let his eyes shut and he drifted into an odd dream.

**(**End of Chapter 20. Now we go back to Ivan and Alfred and we stay there for a while. Yes, there will be some smut next chapter. Don't worry my lovelies I haven't forgot why you read this. **Chapter 21: The Man Behind the Monster**)

( I'm so addicted to writing this story. Which is good because it keeps me writing in a way Nano writing month never could. I've always struggled to write 5,000 words but in less than two months I've written over 60,000 words on this. I enjoy these characters, flaws and all, and especially love telling this plot. I know where's it's going and we haven't even reached what I consider the best parts of the story. But we'll get there!)


	21. Chapter 21: The Man Behind the Monster

**Chapter 21 **

**The Man Behind the Monster**

(The past 24 hours have been HELL. I now officially hate a certain online booking site that decided it was okay to change my flight without letting me know until two hours before it was scheduled to leave. I went from a 10 am flight to an 8 am flight. Problem? The airport was an hour away. By the time I got my bags checked in and got through airport security, the flight gate was closed. I was shattered. Luckily, the merciful flight staff were kind enough to reopen the gate just so I could board my flight. Needless to say I will be letting a certain online booking company know EXACTLY how much I love being informed of such schedule changes two hours before my flight. *eye twitching* )

(Please enjoy.)

Death was after him. That much he understood. Death had yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and a snout that glistened with blood, his blood. It snarled behind him, brush crunching and snapping as it pursued.

He had to escape. Waves of pain and dizziness tore through him, threatening to send him onto the forest mulch. The world was a swirling mass of color and sound. He hurt so much. His white frock was soaked with his blood and ripped in several places. Pieces of him were missing, taken by those horrid fangs.

He wanted to cry, but deep down even at this age, he knew he was the _hero_ and heroes don't cry.

So he ran, each step leading him back to his other half, his twin. No matter how he fought it, they were drawn to each other, bound by more than blood. Not even death would separate them.

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Ivan woke, cold with sweat. That was visceral. The first nightmare he'd had while sleeping next to his beloved. It was also different from his normal ones. From those he always felt rage and despair, but this one had evoked sadness and desperation. He had never dreamed of wolves before.

He frowned, realizing someone was not curled against him. His Mattie had scooted away from their place in the center of the bed toward the edge and had taken most of the covers with him. No wonder Ivan was colder than normal.

_Naughty boy_, Ivan mused, pulling his pet back against his lap and wrapping them both in the green comforter. They were both still naked. He savored the heat radiating off his Sunflower and felt his length stir. Ivan breathed in his Mattie's scent, savoring that oat, grass, and herbal scent.

Smirking, as his Sunflower tried to wiggle away, squirming in fantastic ways against him, Ivan reached up and caressed that stubborn cowlick, eliciting a "mmm" from his Matthew who reddened.

Curling and tugging at it, he kissed at Mattie's nape. His Sunflower's mouth opened slightly and he made a small noise. From his face, it was obvious his Mattie's dreams were becoming sensual. Ivan grinned, moving his fingers down the boy's temple, his jawline, pausing at those soft lips, sighing at the feel of Matthew's warm breathe on his fingertips.

One hand went between Mattie's hip and the bed, holding his Love in place, while his right travelled down Mattie, tracing circles on his hip and back. His Sunflower's face pinched with pleasure and he moaned. His mouth going more ajar; still he remained asleep.

Ivan squeezed the boy's firm buttocks, more groans, and then he wrapped his fingers around Mattie's half-hardened cock and teased the head with his thumb, coaxing it.

His pet's lips twitched as he cried silently in ecstasy, his blush deepening. _You will not be quiet for long_, Ivan thought. Ivan moved his hand up and down, faster, his own member hardening. He bit his lip; he wanted to mount the boy and ride him until the bed board broke. Alas, not today. He had overslept, but he couldn't resist the exquisite sound of his pet's completion one more time before he left.

He pushed the boy onto his back. Ivan threw a leg over the boy's legs, half-straddling him, humping into Mattie's hip as he nuzzled his neck and peppered the boy's throat and collar bone with kisses. Ivan took the open mouth, driving his tongue deep. The boy bucked into his hand.

His Sunflower's hands balled up the sheets as he moaned, his sapphire eyes fluttered open, awareness filling him. Ivan pulled back, giggling at that confused expression. _So adorable_.

"Y-you - aah, ah!" the boy gasped, his words turned into eager cries. His protests ceased as the sensations overwhelmed him, his back arching into each stroke of Ivan's hands. His face was ripe with pleasure.

Ivan kissed him deeply, the boy didn't resist, but joined, needy for Ivan. His whole body shook as Ivan drove him to the edge and their tongues entwined.

"N-no!" he whimpered, pulling away from Ivan's mouth, but he couldn't escape what his body craved. Ivan went faster on his pet's stalk until at last his Mattie yelled out with joy, his whole body quaking from the orgasm. His seed spurted into Ivan's hand, some landing around his thighs.

Matthew collapsed, gasping for air, his eyes misted over with lust. Not waiting for the boy to come to his senses and argue about how Ivan had done that while he was unconscious; Ivan wiped off his hand on a nearby towel, put his clothes on and left. He didn't feel like arguing.

Ivan's member was still hard, but Mattie would pay him back later.

_So much we will do_, Ivan thought, smiling as he shut the door. He caught a surprised, and almost hurt, expression on his Mattie's face. _One day,_ he thought, _you will beg for my touch. _

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It was a relief Ivan left when he did. Alfred had come this close to thanking him for a mind-blowing hand job. Like _woah_, he had almost said and would have regretted that later since he wasn't supposed to be enjoying sex with Ivan. Nor becoming addicted to it.

_I'm fucked,_ he thought, covering his eyes with his forearm. _So very fucked in more ways than one._

The guy was a well-known psycho. So why couldn't Alfred's body and heart understand that? Alfred had always trusted his instincts before, but now they were just confusing him. All of them kept giving the same message that there was good in Ivan. That somewhere beneath the madness was a man worth saving.

_Just crazy_, he lamented in his head as he got up and drudged over to the wash basin. He was now wide-awake thanks to a certain commie bastard. Using the rag in it, he scrubbed himself clean. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of putting on Gilbert's now soiled clothes. _Unless,_ he realized, heading for the door.

Opening it, he found outside a fresh set of brown pants, boxers, and one long-sleeve, off-white shirt. Adding to his delight, were two silver trays filled with plates and bowls of food. Boris, or one of the other servants, had brought Ivan and him dinner.

"Thank God," he cheered. After tossing on the clothes, he dropped to his knees, wiping away some drool as his eyes roved over the dishes. His stomach growled with a, _hurry up!_.

He chose one of the trays, because it had the bigger steak. Alfred just started to lift it when he paused, eyeing Ivan's dinner, or more specifically Ivan's loaf of bread. An idea entered his head, _he won't notice a little missing_.

Checking that the coast was clear, he very discreetly put Ivan's loaf on his tray. Again he was about to go, but his eyes noticed Ivan's dessert. A small stack of pancakes with two more strawberries than his _and_ an extra glop of whip cream on top. Alfred licked his lips, his stomach grumbling again, he said, _"_What's a little more?"

By the time he sat down at the small, oak table on the other side of the bed, his tray was precariously laden with several extra dishes. Meanwhile, Ivan's had only a bowl of cold pea soup left and a plate full of vegetables, both Ivan and Alfred's. _It was fair, _he assured himself, _My greens for his stuff._

Any guilt he might have felt was washed away with the first mouth-watering bite of those pancakes. He sank into his rose-satin seat cushion, moaning with pleasure in a way only food could make him.

"Idiot, left his meal unguarded!" Alfred mumbled, crumbs flying out as he spoke. It was barely understandable even to this own ears. "What a dumbass! Doesn't he know food gets lonely? I had to find it a nice home," he mused, patting his stomach as he munched. "Coz, I _am_ the hero and all!"

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Setting his empty tray by the door, Alfred went exploring. He was pretty familiar with the West Wing, but there was one room he still needed to see.

The West Wing was laid out like a reversed L. The right wall was all doors, while the left was windows, showing the cityscape. The windows stopped mid-way down at the tower stairs and did not continue beyond. Instead, the left wall became empty of anything but iron torch holders. Several feet later, the hall turned left, dead-ending a few feet back at an oak door.

A door that in Alfred's opinion was very odd. There were several reasons for this. First it was bigger than the others and adorned with carved ivy. Second, it was locked.

When he found it a couple days ago, he hadn't been able to investigate much because he had heard what he thought was Ivan returning. Turned out, it had only been Boris who taught him some more of that heavily-accented English that Russians spoke.

"Priveyet" he guessed meant "private", but why Russians ran around greeting each other with _private_ was beyond him. It was like that "da" Ivan always said. Clearly, a butchered form of "yeah".

"Unless," he said, halting in front of the door, "Russians... don't speak English." He thought about that and laughed, "Nah!" They weren't silly like the French and the Spanish. Of course, they spoke the most logical language on the planet!

Turning his attention back on the door, he twisted the handle. Still locked, but this time he had come prepared. Holding up a toothpick, he knelt down and set to work on the door, using the amazing lock-picking skills his incredible father, Mr. Jones Sr. had taught him.

"Stupid, mother effin' door," He muttered, wiggling the pick until finally - _click_ - and wa-lah! Mysterious door was open! Not one for meek entrances, he threw it open. A bad idea because it kicked up layers of dust. He stumbled away, sneezing and coughing.

_Stupid dust!_ he thought, waving it away. Finally, it settled and he pushed the door open, slowly this time, peering in. The room struck him as odd, off somehow. He couldn't put his fingers on it.

_Is it the ceiling_?He wondered, staring up. It was twice as high as the other rooms and was vaulted, criss-crossed by large beams of wood. There was one arched window on the left, just four feet before the ceiling, that allowed evening sunlight to bathe the room gold. Motes of dust floated idly in the rays.

_The carpet?_ He thought, dropping his gaze. It dominated the floor with a multitude of red, green, and blue floral designs. Across from Alfred was what had to be the biggest fireplace he had ever seen, large enough for four men to stand in. Above it was a marble mantel filled with carvings of horned horses, winged lizards, and all sorts of mythical creatures.

All of those things, he realized, were just additions to the strangeness of one item in particular. A tapestry on the right wall. Rich in detail, like everything else, it looked old and badly neglected.

Moving into the center of the room, he studied it, hugging himself. The tapestry was of a battle. In the upper left corner stood an old-grey bearded man dressed in dark blue robes. His hands were gnarled and curled like claws, blue light flowed out of them. His eyes, Alfred shivered, were frost blue and cruel.

Ahead of him was his army, a composite of giant wolves and large lizard-like beasts that blew ice from their maws. In the very center were soldiers, clad in hauberks and silver-colored helmets, their faces revealed them as dead. The soldiers on the old man's side were nothing but corpses he was using his blue light to puppet.

_An army of ghosts_, Alfred thought with a shudder.

Fighting them on the other side of the tapestry were their living counterparts, wearing the same as them, except their faces had color and expression. Their lips were snarled in battle cries and pleas of desperation. Smaller, human-like creatures filled the right, behind the men, they had wings like a butterfly and tall, gravity-defying cowlicks on their pink, blue, green, or yellow-haired heads.

_What are those?_ Alfred wondered; he sucked in a breath, his eyes falling on a young woman at the very bottom right She was drawn as big as the old man. She had eyes as blue as a summer sky. Her golden hair fell down in wavy tresses, spilling around her. Roses, sunflowers, and all manner of wildflowers were woven through it. Her dress was flaxen wheat, bare at her shoulders. Her skin was tanned a deep bronze. Unlike the old man who glared directly at her, she faced out of the picture with sad eyes.

"Oh, my God," Alfred breathed, realization tearing through him. He moved to the right, then the left, then forward and backward. It was true. No matter where you stood her eyes seemed to follow you. "God, that's creepy. I hate it went paintings do that."

He didn't want to stare at in anymore. Something about her, besides the creepy eye-following thing, made his head hurt. He didn't know why this room had been locked and abandoned, but surely there had been a reason.

_Just old ghosts best forgotten_, he told himself, shutting the door as he headed out.

He was just passing the foot of the tower stairs, wondering where Ivan had gone when he heard the man. His ears perked up, listening closely. A chilly air was flowing down the steps and Alfred found himself feeling cold once again.

He heard Ivan again, speaking from up in the tower, but he wasn't alone. There was a second voice, a deeper one.

"Who's up there?" He whispered, wondering if he should look. He paced back and forth, finally giving in to his curiosity. Ivan was talking to someone else and he wanted to know who.

He mounted the steps quietly. He had not been up here since that time when Ivan took his virginity. At the top was that door as before, but now it stood ajar. Ivan was speaking in that heavily-accented English.

_I can't understand anything but da_, he thought, adding, _they really need to work on their pronunciation_.

He leaned his ear closer, trying to determine the source of the second voice. If evil had a voice, it was whatever was in there. It sent chills down Alfred's spine. The icy air emanating from the room, numbed his ear and nose. Frost formed on his lens. There was a smell of winter, but unlike Ivan's scent, it wasn't the pleasant side of the season. No, this smell spoke of frozen corpses and biting winds.

He jerked back when he touched the door, causing to creak. The voices hushed. He was about to retreat when Ivan called out, "Matthew." Alfred tensed. "Please do join me."

Not wanting to seem timid, though he knew that's what the _real_ Matthew would do, he flung open the door and strolled in proudly. Ivan stood in front of the center window, that eerie smile alive and well on his face. Something told Alfred that Ivan's pipe had been out a moment before.

"Why are you here, Sunflower?" Ivan asked, his eyes flickering to the floor between them and back to Alfred, "Recalling our fond times here, da?"

"As if!" Alfred snorted, averting his eyes, hoping Ivan didn't see his embarrassment. "I came up for fresh air and instead heard voices." He brought his gaze back to Ivan's as he asked, "Who was here?"

Ivan's smile shrunk a little as he replied, "Ah, hearing voices, da? You poor thing."

Alfred frowned, protesting, "I'm not crazy! There was someone here and you know it!"

Ivan's eyes grew emptier and suddenly, Alfred felt the hairs on his nape start to rise as the temperature dropped. _That creepy feeling from before_, he realized.

"Lovely weather, da?" Ivan noted, holding his arms open, "Come, my love, enjoy the with view with me."

Alfred didn't want to, but the air was already warming again with the changed subject. The message was clear: _Don't mention the other voice_. It unnerved him deeply, but he knew better than to defy Ivan's increasingly expectant grin.

Crossing the area where Alfred had lost his virginity, he fell into Ivan's embrace, the cold fabric of Ivan's coat sleeves engulfing him as he was turned to an all too familiar view of _Toronto_, the capital of Canada. For some reason the locals always called it _Ottowa_. Alfred just didn't get these silly Canadians sometimes.

He flinched when Ivan's gloved fingers cupped his chin and guided his face toward the snow-capped, blue Atlantic Mountains; they separated Canada and the wild lands from the other Western Kingdoms.

"Beyond those my love," Ivan said, his cool breath tickling Alfred's left ear, "Lie our kingdom, _mother Russia_."

_Our kingdom?_ Alfred repeated in his head, his mouth going dry. His heart sped up, but not from joy. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice weak.

Ivan giggled, squeezing Alfred closer and kissing the top of his head as he insisted, "You will love it there, my sweet Prince."

Alfred's blood ran cold and he tried to jerk away, but Ivan wouldn't let go. He managed to face him though, staring wide-eyed at Ivan, asking, "What are you talking about?"

"Your future, da," Ivan answered, petting Alfred's head as he continued, "You are returning with me, my love. Canada is to become one with Russia."

_ NOW HOLD THE FUCK ON!_ Alfred screamed in his head, stiffening. The color drained from his face and for a moment he couldn't say a thing. Finally, air returned to his lungs and in a voice of barely-contained fury, he said, "Why the _hell_ would I go to Russia?"

Alfred's mind was going haywire from the shock. It was all too much. His farm. His dream. The land of the free he wanted to make there. Everything was falling to pieces. All of his hopes were being stripped away just so he could become this madman's plaything. His little pet.

Alfred's whole body trembled with rage, but Ivan paid no notice, as he continued to smooth Alfred's hair and asked in an amused voice, "What do you mean? Of course, you will come with me. We are lovers, da?"

"Like hell we are!" Alfred growled, taking his chance to shove Ivan off. Ivan stumbled back, pinwheeling his arms, he caught himself on the window sill as Alfred yelled, "Like hell will I go anywhere with you ever you _goddamn commie psycho_!"

"Darling," Ivan warned, standing to his full height. Alfred backed away, edging for the door. "You should not act this way toward me. It is very rude."

That was it. Alfred snapped.

"Go fuck yourself, Ivan," Alfred screamed, his fists curling at his side, "You're out of your fucking mind! Relationship! Give me a fucking break! Did you bother asking _me_ when you decided this? A _relationship_ involves two people you _fucktard_! Two! Ivan, two!" He held up two fingers for added emphasis.

Ivan's childish smile never reached his eyes as he approached Alfred who kept his distance. "Pet, I do not care for you tone. Why are you so upset? We love each other," he said, stopping, he permitted their distance to remain. "This is only a natural step."

"No!" Alfred snarled. "No, it's not! I'm not going to Russia! I'm not even...," he froze, realizing he had almost finished, _"...the Prince of Canada."_ He knew saying that would only make things worse for him and Canada. Who knew how Ivan would react if he found out the Canadian Prince _what's-his-face_ had been lying to him.

"My love," Ivan cooed. "You must calm down."

"And another thing, who the fucks talks this way to their _love_, Snowflake?" Alfred said the last word like it was vile. He ran his hands through his hair; he wanted to pace. It was all going wrong. This was wrong, but if Ivan was aware of Alfred's rattled mental state he remained a sea of tranquility.

"Come to me my love," Ivan urged, holding out a hand. "You will see my way with time."

_This conversation is going nowhere_, Alfred thought. _C'mon man, calm yourself. Think of burgers. Melted cheese dripping over the side_. Despite having just eaten, his stomach growled a little. It worked though. He relaxed a little.

Alfred knew he had to talk to the real Prince. Now. Swallowing all the colorful metaphors he wanted to fling at Ivan was like gulping bile, but he did it. Through gritted teeth, he said, "May I leave the West Wing? You know for Princely duties and stuff?"

"_Nyet_," Ivan answered, shaking his head, he lowered his hand. The look of disappointment unmistakable.

Alfred's nail pressed into his palms as he asked, "And why not? You're letting me keep a damn weapon by our bedside because you _claimed_ you trust me. What's wrong with my wandering around my own castle?"

"_Our_ castle," Ivan corrected, replying, "Because this is subjugation and you may not meet others."

"But you said we were lovers. Lovers trust each other, right? Are you saying you don't trust me? That we aren't lovers?" Alfred pointed out. Ivan's grin faltered a little, but came back with a vengeance.

"So silly," he chuckled. "Of course, we are lovers. Of course, I trust you, but you cannot leave."

Alfred snorted, clenching his teeth, he asked, "Why not?"

"Because you will run back to that Prussian worm again."

Alfred slapped a palm against his face, groaning, "You can't be serious. For the last time, there is nothing between me and Gilbert!"

"That is not what he said, da?"

"Gilbert was lying. He's a jackass!" Alfred insisted. "He made that shit up just to get your guards to back off and piss you off!"

"It was very effective, da? I almost killed him," Ivan said, his eyes widening slightly for a moment. "Good thing you were so _desperate_ to save him, da?" The sneer in his words was all too obvious.

"If I swear not to meet with Gilbert, will you let me out?" Alfred asked, adding, "_Please._"

"_Nyet_," Ivan replied, shaking his head.

Alfred threw up his hands in frustration, demanding, "Why the _fuck_ not?"

"I cannot trust you to come back," Ivan replied. "You have run away too many times. I will not risk it again. Darling, you are not mature enough to understand."

That was it! If Alfred had snapped a minute ago, he exploded now. A tirade of profanities launched from his mouth, Ivan's smile widening with each one.

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Alfred stomped down the stairs, trying not to wince at each fresh jolt of pain that shot up his ass. _God, it hurts_, he muttered in his head. His fresh clothes were now disheveled and an uncomfortable stickiness was oozing out of his butt, more was also on his stomach. He had hickeys and bite marks all over his chest and shoulders, and poor Nantucket was aching from its abuse.

_I hate! HATE, HATE, HATE THAT COMMIE BASTARD! _He shouted in his head. Worse yet, that bastard was causing him to now do a very un-Alfred thing: brooding.

But what pissed Alfred the most had to be how Ivan had dismissed him after fucking him senseless into the stone floor.

_Sunflower, he had said, you may go. I have grown-up things to do. You will understand when you are older._

Not wanting more _punishment_, Alfred had dressed himself and left without a word, shooting the back of Ivan's head the finger before slamming the door shut. God only knew what that commie bastard was doing up there, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Commie asshole," he breathed as he descended, repeating it like a litany. Ivan had no right to treat him that way. The really sick thing in all this was that ever since their "make-up" session it had become increasingly clear that Ivan had changed from regarding Alfred as a favorite toy to being his "precious, little angel". One that he needed to guard from the big, bad world that was trying to corrupt Alfred.

What terrified Alfred more than anything was that Ivan seemed to want to cage him. Alfred hated the very idea of being trapped almost as much as he feared ghosts.

"I will never be locked up!" he swore in a low voice. There was no way he would accept this. He was half-tempted to run over to the guards, kick their asses, and get the hell out of here. Let Ivan try to find him in the wild lands! The only thing stopping him was the thought of what would happen to Canada and its Prince after he did that. He was a hero after all and heroes didn't just abandon people.

Still, what could he do to make Ivan get over this obsession with him? He halted, holding his chin in the crook of his forefinger and thumb, his frown deepened. Beads of sweat grew on his forehead.

He groaned, throwing up his hands in exasperation as he bemoaned, "There's nothing! Nothing that can lessen my sexiness!" Sometimes it was so hard being gorgeous.

"Could I pick my nose?" He wondered aloud, but shook his head. He'd still look sexy doing that. "Could I pick his nose?" No, that wouldn't work either. He'd vomit first and even Alfred vomiting had to be sexy, he was positive. "I know!" he said, hitting his fist in his palm, "I'll grow a super-long beard! It'll be sixty, no two hundred, no one mile long and filled with super-powered lice!"

_No_, _that won't work_, he realized, his shoulders sagging. After all, where would he get the lice?

"Can't blame the guy for falling for me," He admitted, continuing his march down the steps, adding, "It is only natural, coz it's me and all."

A flutter of yellow snapped him from his thoughts and he threw himself against the wall, almost tumbling down the stairs as he let out a garbled cry of, "Holy shit!"

He blinked, seeing nothing until he heard a chirp from his left and noticed a small weight on his shoulder. He turned toward it, staring into two tiny, black eyes. A bright yellow bird with a soft, white underbelly was perched there staring at him. He couldn't decide if it was a really fat parakeet or a flying baby chick.

_Now I really am crazy_, he thought, gaping at it. That bird had a very _familiar_ cocky pose and aura of I'm-so-awesome. Before he could stop them, his lips uttered, "_Gilbert_?"

**End of Chapter 21 **Who is this pesky baby chick thing that resembles Gilbert and what does it want? Find out in **Chapter 22: The Secret Passage**

(Ugh, most of this chapter was easy to write but that tapestry room scene was just awful. I took that one scene through seven drafts and still it didn't flow right. So I kinda gave up. I thought the Ivan/ Alfred scenes read well enough that even if it got a little boring the Ivan/ Al scene would capture your interest again.

Did it work?

*hits head against wall and mutters about, "stupid impossible tapestry room scene"* See ya next time!)


	22. Chapter 22: The Secret Passage

**Chapter 22 **

**The Secret Passage**

(Hastily written for you enjoyment! So you BETTER enjoy it or else. J/K I love my readers and reviewers :P )

_Before he could stop them, his lips uttered, "Gilbert?"_

The bird chirped and nodded. He blinked, thinking, _Did I just see that?_

"Woah," Alfred whispered, eyeing it, he blurted out, "Dude, so you can become a fat parakeet?"

Its little chick brows furrowed. _Aw, is Gilbert-chick glaring at me_, he thought. "Aw, how cute," he said aloud. He yelped when its little clawed feet dug into his shoulders. "Hey man!"

It chirped and turned its little tail toward him. Alfred tilted his head in confusion, his expression turning to shock, when a big, white glob of poo squirted out of his butt and plopped on his shoulder sleeve.

For a second, his mind was blank as it processed what the little bastard had done.

"You... you little!" he fumed, grabbing at it, but it flew up and then dove past him, landing several steps down. He glared at it. And that might have been the end of it until the Gilbert-bird stuck its rear at him again and waggled it. _The bastard is mooning me,_ he realized.

Alfred lunged at it. That bird was going down or his name wasn't Alfred F. Jones!

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_ "_Gotcha!" he cried, diving-bombing across the carpet of the tapestry room, but he only succeeding in plucking a feather from its tail which caused it to _eep_. The door shut behind him with a click and then it occurred to him it had been open when he ran in, but he had closed it earlier.

He whirled around, leaping to his feet and stopped, blinking at the sight of Gilbert, standing in front of the door. He had been hiding behind it.

_ "Gilbert?" _ he mouthed as Gilbert held a finger to his lips, urging Alfred to be quiet. "You're not a bird?" he whispered, watching the yellow bastard flutter down and settle on Gilbert's shoulder.

"No shit, genius," Gilbert retorted in a hushed voice. Alfred frowned as much as he wanted to punch the guy then, he also wanted to hug him. It was good to see him again.

"What were you doing to my little buddy, _Gilbird_?" Gilbert said, eyeing the feather in Alfred hand.

_"Gilbird?" _Alfred gaped, _Did I hear that right?_ As Gilbert stood, legs shoulder-width apart, the bird perched on his left, Alfred realized their cocky stances were matching.

"Yeah," Gilbert affirmed, raising a sardonic eyebrow, he continued as if addressing a simpleton, "His name is Gil and he's a bird, so _Gilbird_."

"Oookaayy," Alfred said, shaking his head, "I didn't know you kept a pet."

Gilbird gave a small squawk and Gilbert straightened, hissing, "How dare you!"

"Huh?"

"Gilbird is no pet! He's my awesome buddy! Aren't you?" Gilbert said, facing the bird who puffed up and rubbed his beak against Gilbert's lips as Gilbert made little kissing noises, cooing, "Oh, who's the most awesome? I am! I am!"

Alfred made a choking noise. This was too sickly-sweet. Gilbert frowned and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a little brown pellet, he flipped it into Gilbird's mouth who gulped it and chirped in what Alfred assumed was a, "_Thanks, bud_."

"All right, buddy do your stuff," Gilbert said, cracking the door open. Gilbird winked, that's right WINKED at Gilbert, and flew out. "He'll keep watch."

"Okay that was... freaky," Alfred said, asking, "How come I've never seen him before?"

"Well," Gilbert answered, rolling his eyes, "He wouldn't be much of a spy bird if I paraded him around on my shoulder, now would he?"

Alfred just stood there speechless and then shrugged. He'd just go with it. Another question had entered his head anyway so he asked, "How..." he trailed off, looking around, "Did you get in here? You're not a...," he swallowed hard, finishing, "a...a...g-g-ghost, are you?"

"Don't be stupid," Gilbert said flatly, adding, "If you can," he ignored Alfred's narrowed eyes. "I used the secret passage."

"Secret passage?" Alfred gasped, brightening, he dropped his voice low at Gilbert's warning look, but glanced about like a kid who just found out he was in a candy shop. "That's so cool! Where is it? Is it the fireplace? I bet it is!" He said, going over there, bending down as he examined all around it.

Gilbert sighed, came over, and grabbed Alfred's shoulder, turning him around, he whispered, "Alfred, can you stay focused for more than five seconds? We may not have much time!"

Alfred stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Staying focused for more than five seconds."

Gilbert hit him upside the head, snapping, "Stop that!"

"What? You said stay focused," Alfred said, rubbing the back of his head. "Which is really ironic coming from the guy who during one of our training sessions on Canadian manners, snuck off to prank that frog guy."

"I did no... oh yeah," he said, nodding. A smirk crossed his features as if remembering something pleasant. He shook his head, continuing, "Enough about that. Let-."

"Dude!" Alfred cut in, shooting to his feet. "I have to tell you something. You won't believe what that Russian jerk said. He wa-."

"Alfred!" Gilbert interrupted. "We don't have time for this! I came to let you know we hadn't abandoned you and second of all, to l-."

"Ah, shucks. That's cool of you guys," Alfred said, then his eyes locked onto the tapestry. He ran over to it, pointing at it, he asked, "It's great you're here. I have been wondering about this thing all morning. I mean what's the deal with it?"

Gilbert sighed heavily, massaging his brow. He mumbled something that Alfred didn't quite catch.

"It's a tapestry, Alfred. What about it?" Gilbert muttered, standing beside him to study it.

"Yeah, but look at it. It's some kind of battle. And what's with the chick?"

"Oh, c'mon," Gilbert said, keeping his voice down, he stepped between it and Alfred jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at it. "Surely you recognize that."

Alfred shook his head.

"You've never...," Gilbert gaped. "You mean American children have never heard of the War of Summer and Winter? Damn, that's lucky," he said in an envious tone. "I had to listen to that damn fable all the time while growing up. It's only one of the most famous legends in the Kingdoms."

"Really?" Alfred said. "What's it about?"

"Uh, I don't know maybe since it's called _The War of Summer and Winter_ it could be about war?" Gilbert suggested.

"I'm sensing sarcasm," Alfred said.

"Ja," Gilbert agreed, letting an accent leak into his words. Seeing Alfred's next question, he answered it, "I don't remember it much. It's a creepy fairy tale about how over a thousand years ago two Seasons went to war. General Winter and Lady Summer. It was a horrific battle as the story goes that devastated the lands."

"Lady Summer?" Alfred said, eyeing the woman behind Gilbert. "Why are those soldiers fighting when they look dead?"

"Because they are dead," He replied and seeing Alfred's baffled face, continued, "It's from the scariest part of the story. All I remember comes from this poem:

_Those they slew,_

_ Rose again,_

_ One with Winter's army,_

_ They wept and fought,_

_ Their comrades, their friends,_

_ Each they hacked down,_

_ Added to his Lich Army,_

_ For death is no escape from the Midnight King._

And that's all I remember," he finished.

"That's doesn't even rhyme. Is that really a poem?"

"Fuck off, I translated. And a damn awesome translation I must say."

"By the way, who is the Midnight King?"

Gilbert nearly lost his step, "Who? I heard Americans were ignorant, but dear God," he said as Alfred shrugged. "The phases of the hour?"

"The what?"

"You've never heard of this. The Midnight King?" Alfred shook his head. "That's another name for General Winter. Midnight is the hour of death just like noon is the Hour of Life."

"You lost me."

Gilbert frowned and his shoulders sagged, "So in the Western Kingdoms it is believed that the Hour of Dawn is the Time of Birth. The Hour of Twilight is the Time of Wisdom. Noon is for Life and midnight is for death. All four times also represent all four seasons. So Spring is..." he trailed off, gesturing for Alfred to finish.

"The Hour of Dawn?"

"Very good. So General Winter is the Midnight King and also the Master of Death. In mythology, he rules over the Reaper Spirits that carry souls into the next life. It is said he had the power to make the dead rise. To make corpses march in his Lich Army."

"You mean like an army of zombies?" Alfred said, his pitch edging just a little high. "That's freaky!"

"Tell me about it. That's why I dislike that story," Gilbert said with a shudder. "Now can we talk about something else?" Gilbert asked gruffly, rubbing at his temples. Alfred's head hurt too for some reason.

"Of course," Alfred agreed. "So what's the deal with the West Wing?"

Gilbert snorted and threw up his hands, muttering, "You're impossible. What do you mean?"

"Like why's this place designed so weird?

"You mean like a castle?"

"No, I mean all impractical," he said, tilting his head, not really sure how to word it. "This room has such an eerie feel. Why was it locked?"

"Didn't you pay attention at all when I tutored you? I said King Arthur didn't build the original castle. He only found the ruins of this one when he continued exploring the wild lands as the Queen had before him. He believed this place, left behind by the Vikings, was infused with pixy dust or something. Anyhow, he had the castle rebuilt and expanded upon. But who cares? It's a castle. Happy? Can we stop going off topic now?"

"All right," Alfred said, taking a pose of deep concentration.

"I came he-," Gilbird flew back into the room and Gilbert threw up his hands. "Dammit. You have to go."

"Aw," Alfred said.

"And I brought you some of my burgers too. I left them in the secret passage. Maybe I sho-," Gilbert began, but Alfred clapped a hand over his shoulder.

"No, I should go," he urged, about to bolt but Gilbert grabbed him by the arm.

He whispered, "Alfred, there's something you _must_ do..."

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Alfred spotted the Russian walking toward their room. He ran toward him, Ivan just turning around, demanding, "Where have you be-," but was silenced when Alfred's lips met his and Alfred's arms encircled his neck, pulling him in deeper.

Ivan went rigid with shock, then melted into the kiss, rocking against Alfred, his hands crawling up Alfred's back, he drew them tighter.

"Sunflower," he tried to say, but Alfred wouldn't let up. He clamped his mouth back over Ivan, entwining their tongues, he pushed Ivan backwards toward their door and into their room. He was too busy taste-testing Ivan to even noticed when the taller one pulled them onto their bed, Alfred on top.

Alfred knew what needed to be done. Ivan's guard had to be lowered, even if that meant saying, "I love you." _Feel no pity for him_, Alfred told himself. If even half of the rumors were true, than Ivan deserved no sympathy, and yet, deep down Alfred felt a pang of guilt anyway.

_I won't risk my freedom_, he said in his mind. It was his mantra. Whatever love he felt for Ivan, he loved his freedom more. He had to do this, he repeated to himself.

_But why is it so hard_, he wondered, moaning as Ivan rolled him over and laid on top of him, rubbing his groin against his. Those now-oh-so familiar winter sensations were coursing through him. Those flavors of mint and snow, those scents of pine cones and frost. All so intoxicating.

He was enthralled by Ivan. He barely noticed Ivan undoing his pant buttons while he undid Ivan's. When their clothes were gone, they became a tangle of limbs, wet kissing and sucking noises, filled the room. The bed creaked beneath them.

Ivan pulled away, reaching under the bed for the vial of lube. Alfred saw something in Ivan's eyes, an emotion behind the lust. Happiness. From the very beginning, Alfred had sensed something was broken in Ivan's heart. Something that, for whatever reasons, was being fixed by the American's very presence, his very love.

And despite what his head argued, Alfred was being changed too. When he was around Ivan, he felt calmer. The randomness of his mind became more concise and focused. Whereas, before he had always been hopping from idea to idea without rhyme or reason.

_Stop it!_ He told himself as Ivan once more kissed him and those cold hands started roving again. _That man will cage you. He cares for no one but himself_.

Yes, that was right, he told himself. Yet, he knew, in the very back of his mind, that right now he was being more honest with his feelings than he had ever been in his life. For within this lie, he was free to love his Snowflake with all his heart.

(End of Chapter 22. Next is **Chapter 23: Free to Love**)

(Not much longer. The next chapter will be fluffy, but after that, we take off and zip towards the finale of Part One.)


	23. Chapter 23: Free to Love

**Chapter 23: Free To Love**

(Oops, broke up the chapter again. But here's a treat. I'll just begin with the smut.)

"Aah, aah," Alfred moaned, Ivan pumping into him from behind. He clutched the bed board harder, cracks raced down it. The whole bed was banging against the wall. This was the fourth time tonight Ivan had awoken him for this. At first, Alfred had tried to ignore those cold hands groping him, but Ivan had been persistent and one thing had led to another.

He arched against the bed board as Ivan came inside him, his own member finding release in Ivan's cool fingers. They both collapsed, Alfred sinking back under the covers, Ivan spooned against him, resting his chin on Alfred's shoulder blade. They panted; bathing in the afterglow.

Ivan's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against the other's stomach. "Good night, Sunflower," Ivan whispered, kissing his nape.

"Mmmm," was Alfred's way of saying, "Good night."

He slipped back into sleep, dreaming of a snowy forest. He was running as always from far-off barking dogs. His body ached and he longed for a death he was not lucky enough to receive.

A cold, cruel voice sighed in the wind, calling for him, "_Vanya...my dear one..._"

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Alfred woke to a hard, sharp pinch in his side. Yelping, he nearly fell out of bed, but was caught by Ivan who pulled him back as Alfred demanded, "What the hell, man! Whaddya' pinch me for?"

"We talk, da," Ivan said, propping his head on his pillow. It was still dark so he couldn't see Ivan's expression, but he swore he could feel the guy grinning.

"Talk?" Alfred repeated, a little confused and angry at being woken up over that. He rubbed at his right side, still tingling from the pinch.

"Da," Ivan agreed. "What do you think of good and evil?"

Alfred nearly tumbled out of the bed again. "What? What?" He said, sure a punchline would come follow any second now. Finally, he got that the Russian had seriously just asked him that. "You're asking _me_ about philosophy?"

"Da. What do you think? Tell me," he ordered, not asked, _ordered_.

Alfred was speechless. He gaped, trying to form a coherent thought. "You woke me up before _dawn_ to philosophize? I mean, my God!" he said, sitting up, the covers fell off his naked torso.

"Why do you keep evading the topic? Afraid to answer, da?" Ivan stated. Alfred glared at him. This was too rich. Ivan, the King of Topic Evasion was accusing him of that!

Ivan pinched his thigh and he jerked away, his back hitting the bed board, "Hey! Stop that!" he snapped.

"Oh, I thought you were dozing again. I woke you, da," Ivan answered.

"I was _thinking_," Alfred insisted as he felt Ivan gaze at him expectantly.

"A dangerous task for you," Ivan quipped.

"Shut it!" Alfred retorted, continuing, "So what was this about good and evil?"

"I want to know your opinion about it, da."

"Um...I suppose...um...evil is very...um...evil?" _What the hell am I supposed to say?_ Alfred said in his head.

"Elaborate," Ivan said. "More specifics."

_Like examples? Well, there's you!_ Alfred grumbled in his mind as his mouth said, "Uh, I guess evil is like a...a... hamburger!" Yes, that was it! His held up his forefinger just to emphasize his genius.

The silence that followed was golden.

"A what?" Ivan finally asked.

"You know that amazing thing I made for you a few days ago!" He chirped.

"That greasy thing?" Ivan said, nodding, "Da, that was _evil_ on my stomach."

"Pssha!" Alfred clicked his tongue. "Snowflake, you completely missed my point. There is no way a hamburger could ever be evil," he said, adding in his head, _unless it's made by Gilbert, but then those aren't hamburgers. There the demented, in-bred mutant cousins of them._

Feeling the other's confusion, he continued, "You see, what I was _saying_ was that the set-up of a hamburger is a metaphor for good and evil. The cheese, meat, and bread represent purity and divine _awesomeness_! But no sooner do you bite into one then you realize their magic has been dampened by a force of pure evil known as," he paused for dramatic tension, "Lettuce."

Ivan remained quiet.

_Wow, he's enraptured_, Alfred thought, grinning, but that wasn't too surprising. He was a fantastic storyteller after all. "But even though it wrecks the succulent flavor, you need it to make the burger healthy and," his stomach growled, "it makes you appreciate the good stuff."

There was a long pause that followed and he was just about to go back to sleep when Ivan asked, "Can someone be beyond redemption?" Alfred just gaped, glad Ivan couldn't see it. _What is with these questions? _He wondered, scratching his head.

"Uh, I guess if they really work to better themselves?" Alfred mused, feeling like he was missing what Ivan was really getting at, but then he'd never been much of a morning person.

"Sunflower," Ivan whispered, kissing his cheek. Alfred stiffened. "For an idiot, you're quite amusing."

Oh, that was it! Ivan had asked for it. Alfred rolled over twice, he didn't leave his spot on the bed, but he did suck all the covers off of Ivan. Cocooned in this new warmth, he shut his eyes, cackling in his head, _Freeze you jerk! Freeze!_

"Darling," Ivan warned, tugging at the covers, but Alfred held them tight. "You need to share, da."

Alfred began snoring loudly, using his awesome acting skills. He'd teach Ivan about waking him up for such crap.

"So you want a cold war, da?" Ivan giggled and Alfred could _feel _the smile on Ivan's face. He snored louder. "This is my final warning. Share or else."

The corners of Alfred's mouth were twitching in a smile on his "sleeping face". Like hell would he bend willingly to a commie.

"Punishment, da?" Ivan said and pounced on Alfred whose now barely-suppressed smile had become a grin. Laughter, wet kisses, and Round Six followed.

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Ivan buttoned up his coat, several times glancing over his shoulders at his Mattie. Mattie was asleep, the bedding down just enough on his chest, to reveal some of the old and fresh hickeys Ivan had left.

"I will return early afternoon," Ivan said, kissing his darling's forehead, he stroke his soft cheek and then departed, shutting the door softly.

Walking down the hall, Ivan touched his chest wondering at the strange way his heart was fluttering. _Is it illness?_ He wondered, but it had to be a good kind because it made his whole body feel warm.

Passing the guards who watched the West Wing, he waved at them and smiled. They all paled and one dropped his spear, apologizing profusely for his mistake. He promised to have himself flogged by this evening.

Ivan giggled and said that wasn't necessary. _Silly guards_, he thought, continuing, the smile never leaving his face. He continued to greet people and they all had the same reaction. There were a record number of dropped things and tripping servants that morning. He had never realized how clumsy his people were.

_Is it because of my good mood?_ He wondered. Had they never seen him content before? Thinking about that, he realized that, no, they hadn't.

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The moment Ivan shut the door, Alfred's eyes flew open. He sat up, listening, when Ivan's booted footsteps pronounced him as gone, Alfred tossed off the covers, ran over to the wash basin, scrubbed himself clean, dressed in a fine-woolen shirt and pants, then dashed out of the room.

He went to the room next door. That was their designated piss-bucket room. Man, did he have to go. He so did not envy the servant would come later to exchange this bucket for a clean one. I mean darn did he need to drop a load.

He winced, Ivan's constant attention to his butt hole last night made "depositing some rocks", as his father used to put it, uncomfortable as hell. "Stupid Ivan," he grumbled as he finished, pulled up his pants and went to the wash basin located on the window sill at the back of the room.

He was drying his hands when he heard an "eep" on the other side of the wooden shutters followed by a persistent tapping. Pulling off the wooden bar, he opened them and was greeted by the very jackass bird he'd been about to go look for. Gilbird stood there a puff of yellow standing in the pale morning light.

Needless to say Gilbird looked equally as annoyed to see him. Less so when a wave of the room's stink wafted over the bird. Gilbird wobbled like he would pass out.

_Birds can smell?_ Alfred wondered, smirking at the thought.

All that saved the yellow jerk was a chill autumn wind that pushed the smell back inside. "So jackass, miss me?" He beamed. The bird puffed out and glared at him with a _you know why I'm here_.

He was about to say, _"I'll do it tonight_," when he hesitated. His face growing heated at images of those kisses and soothing embraces. _What am I thinking?_ He asked himself, shaking his head.

The bird pecked his hand and he flinched, pulling it away. "Tonight, I can't," he finally said. "It's not a good chance," he lied. "Come back tomorrow."

He cut Gilbird off in mid-squawk, slamming the shutters closed and fitting the bar back in place. He slid his back down the wall, shocked at what he had just done. There was no reason to put this off. So why did he?

"Just one more night," he told himself. "That's all I need. I will."

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Alfred couldn't help it if he was hungrier than your average person or that Ivan's lunch tray was little _full_. He planned to only take a little, but dammit, it was Macaroni and Cheese. And oh the dessert! Fudge! How could Alfred resist that! He was only one man.

Setting his tray of empty dishes outside, he hoped Ivan wouldn't noticed. He spread out all the veggies on Ivan's lone plate and flattened the bread, trying to make it seem bigger than it was.

Familiar footsteps broke his attention and he rushed into the room, tore a book of the shelf and sat on one of the green satin-cushioned chairs, propping his feet on the edge of the bed.

His nose was almost touching the pages. He winced when Ivan halted outside their door. There was a scrape of metal against stone as Ivan picked up what Alfred assumed was Ivan's tray.

_Oh shit_, he thought, whistling loudly to show how utterly engaged he was. He didn't look up when the door was thrown open, nor when the tray was dropped on the table, nor when Ivan stood in front of him, tapping a foot.

Alfred's eyes were glued to the fascinating squiggly things in front of him.

Ivan's forefinger changed that, it pulled the book out of his death grip and tossed it on the table as Ivan said, "Sunflower." Alfred averted his eyes, whistling louder. He was innocent of any crime to which he might be accused. The food had leapt into his mouth. How was he to say no?

"Sunflower," Ivan repeated, "We seem to have a very greedy _rat_ eating my food, da."

"What?" Alfred gasped dramatically, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "That's awful, man."

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Not at thing," Alfred lied, shaking his head. In his mind, he could see the halo above his head. Innocent.

He sneaked a glance at Ivan who was clearly not buying it.

"W-What?" He stammered, realizing what he had to do. It was time for desperate measures. Going all out, he beamed at Ivan, giving the thumbs up. Ivan's face never faltered as he stared at him. _It doesn't work?_ Alfred's mind reeled in shock. It couldn't be!

He raised his grin to maximum until the gleam was showing in his teeth and went for two thumbs up. Ivan put both hands on either arm of the chair, caging Alfred there as his own creepy smile appeared.

_Gah_, Alfred thought, unable to believe that Ivan had not been swayed at all by the big grin and double-thumbs-up combo. Ivan _clearly_ wasn't human.

Lowering his eyes, Alfred said, "I'll see he stays away from your meals," adding in his head, _mostly. No promises on desserts._

"See that he does," Ivan warned, leaning in until their noses were almost touching. His knees went to either side of Alfred, straddling him on the chair.

"H-hey now!" Alfred protested, but Ivan was already nuzzling his neck. He blushed.

"I have to punish you, da," Ivan whispered in his left ear, licking the shell.

"F-for what?" Alfred asked.

"Not protecting my meal from that awful _rat_," Ivan replied, biting down on nantucket. Alfred shuddered.

"It...it was really big," he panted, his hands going up Ivan's back. "Like the size of a bear. Real strong too and handsome!"

"Canada has quite an infestation problem, da," Ivan chuckled, sucking on his cowlick. Alfred clutched at Ivan, his toes curling.

"You have...no idea," He managed, "You should see the Russian ones they got recently." Ivan smiled and kissed his forehead, trailing his tongue down his cheek. Alfred tensed as the chair flipped over backwards and landed with a bang, knocking the wind out of him. Not that that stopped Ivan.

Alfred kicked and crawled out from under him, Ivan somehow pulling Alfred's pants off in the process as he gasped for air. He threw himself onto the bed, but Ivan was promptly on top of him, licking his nape and holding him down with his weight.

Air was finally starting to refill his lungs when he was flipped over, Ivan scooting up until his pulsating member was mere inches from Alfred's face. "What...are...you...?" he wheezed, then trailed off, seeing the look in Ivan's eyes.

"You haven't had all of my dessert yet," Ivan giggled, pressing against Alfred's lips. Alfred's eyes narrowed, then a wicked idea of his own came. He blushed at the dirty thought, but what if this might be his last chance. Sure, it was lewd.

"All right," He said, pulling away from the member, "But only if you sample mine too."

Ivan's eyes lit up. He quickly tossed his clothing off and soon had his hips poised above Alfred's face and was lapping at Alfred's hardening stalk. _Woah_, _there buddy_, Alfred thought, clenching the sheets as waves of pleasure washed over him. Ivan was wasting no time.

"You better eat it all," Ivan warned and then took in all of Alfred who arched into his moist hole, bucking a few times. He snapped out of it as Ivan pushed his dripping stalk against Alfred's mouth.

Alfred tried to focus, licking and teasing Ivan's cock, but he was too distracted. Ivan was a genius at this. The way his tongue swirled around Alfred's base and scrotum were just divine.

Opening his mouth, Alfred took it in slowly, Ivan paused, sighing at the sensation, he pushed deeper into Alfred's throat before starting again on Alfie Jr. There was no way he could compete or concentrate. He gave up and let Ivan push in and out of his mouth, fucking his throat.

For a time, there was only the creak of the bed, their sucking sounds, and their grunts. Finally, heat pooled in Alfred's groin and all his muscles seized up, he thrusted into Ivan hard. Ivan continuing sucking on him, swallowing it all.

_Ew_, Alfred thought, but then realized what Ivan was planning. The Russian slammed down and cum squirted into Alfred's mouth. He choked on it, having no choice but to gulp it down.

Pushing him off, Alfred coughed and spluttered over the side of the bed. A lot had gotten down. He glared at the Russian who patted his back.

"You okay?" Ivan asked. Alfred wanted to snap at him, but he knew the response would be something like, _I swallowed yours_. He kept his mouth shut.

He laid on his side, Ivan cuddling beside him. Whatever happened, there was definitely some things he would miss about the Russian and some he wouldn't.

(END OF CHAPTER 23. Well, sorta. I split the chapter in half. Sorry guys. The plots just going to have to wait. Fluff and smut, first. See you in **Chapter 24: Getting to Know You**)

(To tell the truth, a lot of my inspiration for the relationship between Ivan and Alfred comes from the video "Thought of You" by Ryan J Woodward. Check it out on You Tube if you get the chance. An absolutely beautiful piece of 2-D animation.

Of course, the ending of the video and mine may be significantly different (maybe, no promises :P ). Picture Alfred as the dancing woman and Ivan as the man and you'll get the idea of what is brewing between them. )


	24. Chapter 24: Getting to Know You

**Chapter 24: Getting to Know You**

(The other half of Chapter 23 )

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Things with Ivan got stranger that evening. Alfred almost choked on a piece of steak when Ivan popped the question, "You will tell me about your childhood, da?"

Wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand and then wiping that off with his napkin, Alfred blinked at Ivan, wondering if he had just heard correctly. If he had, that was bad because Alfred had forgotten, aka tuned out, most of Gilbert's history lesson on the Prince's background.

Not that he had meant to. He had tried to listen, but Alfred had a bad habit of daydreaming. When he got bored his mind just started wandering. His pops, Mr. Jones, had commented once that Alfred was the only person he knew that could sleep with his eyes open and _nod_ along.

_Strange_, he realized. He had never tuned out Ivan. _Is it because the guy is so random?_

Ivan was watching him, waiting. Alfred took a bite of his bread, chewing slowly, hoping if he waited long enough the man would drop it. No, such luck. _Damn_, he thought, cobbling together the random tidbits of Prince Mark's past that he could recall. A story quickly formed in his head, one he'd just spruce up here and there.

_"_Ha, Ha!, good one, Snowflake," Alfred laughed, eyes constantly drawn to his meal. That steak was so begging to be eaten. "Let's wait until after dinner."

"Nyet," Ivan said. "Tell me now."

Alfred groaned, whining, "Why do you need to know?"

"So I can understand my lover, da."

_Is that what this is all about?_ Alfred wondered, shaking his head. He decided to change strategies. Reluctantly, putting the loaf aside, he put a hand on Ivan's knee and slid it up toward the man's thigh. To his shock, Ivan took it and set it back on the table.

"Hey!" Alfred said, frowning. _Ivan's not interested in sex?_ _How is that possible? I mean it's me!_ He thought, a little offended, but then he was an amazing storyteller. _That must be why_, he told himself.

"Fine," Alfred said, seeing that Ivan wasn't going to let up. Well, that was okay because he was about to be blown away. If there was one thing Alfred knew how to do, it was get people's attention.

The first trick of good storytelling was to be _dramatic_.

"As you wish," he said, leaping onto the bed, he spun around to face Ivan, throwing his shirt off in the process.

"Why did you take your shirt off?" Ivan asked, admiring the half-naked Alfred standing on the bed.

The second trick was, _sex_ sells. With younger audiences you had to use romance, but with the adults, the porn worked best.

"Because," Alfred answered, "I'm just so _hot_." He flexed the left peck, then the right. Man, he was sexy. Then he squatted down, throwing out his hands in a dramatic gesture as he said, "Careful you!" he shouted, pointing at a baffled Ivan. "This tale is not for the weak-heart! Mine is one of passion," he said, curling his hand into a fist, "fear," grabbing at his heart, "and a love that will never die!" He softened his gaze and placed his hand flat over his heart.

"We _are_ still talking about childhood, da?" Ivan asked, crossing his arms.

_Oh yeah_, Alfred thought, hiding his surprise with a little more flexing. It was working whether Ivan wanted it to or not. "Yes, yes, of course. A passionate, fearful, and love-filled story of childhood." Now to flex the abs. Wink. Sexiness accomplished.

The third trick of good story-telling was to connect with your audience. Far too often, bards would get wrapped in telling it exactly how they learned it or as it actually happened in history. That was just _so_ boring. Historical accuracy wasn't needed! People wanted it to relate to them. Just because Sir Lancelot had been British didn't mean he couldn't be American!

It only took Alfred a moment to connect it to Ivan as he made his hand go over his head in a wide sweeping arc, uttering, "In those early years, my dearest companion was a Russian horse named...uh...Cheesakania," there, he had put a Russian accent on its name, "And he had the magical power to think."

Now the fourth and most vital thing, _always_ embellish.

"The two of us were awesome friends. But then," he said, looking toward the window like he was gazing at something far-off, he held out a palm toward Ivan, "the ancient enemy of the Canadas came. Hordes of Polar Bear Warlords poured from the mountains. They slaughtered the innocent by the dozens, _no_ thousands! I was only eight, no six, no four at the time, but I was all that stood between them and Canada. I was the hero after all. Armed with naught but a hockey stick and my faithful _Russian_ companion, I would..."

He certainly had Ivan's attention.

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"And that was how I saved the world yet again by the time I was eleven," Alfred finished. By this point, he was clad only in his boxers. Lots of sex appeal had been used. Also plenty of explosions and gore for added effect.

Alfred puts his fists on his hips, puffing out his chest, proud of his fantastic tale of the Prince's childhood. Ivan just stared at him, for once, speechless. Getting a little nervous at the silence, Alfred popped his shoulder muscles and stretched his hands over his head, emphasizing his fantastic body.

Ivan did look him up and down. Then the strangest thing happened, Ivan giggled, not the creepy one, but something with mirth. It transformed into a chuckle and soon he had thrown his head back and was laughing so hard he started coughing and pounding the table.

"Uh, hey Ivan," Alfred said, coming over to him. "Are you oka-"

Ivan reached up, grabbing Alfred by the nape, he yanked him into a lip-crushing kiss. Alfred's eyes widened in shock, he continued to try and talk, his words muffled by Ivan, but Ivan wouldn't let him. Ivan's gaze was half-lidded as he stood up, dipping Alfred backward so low the boy had to cling to him or fall on the floor. Ivan kissed him deeply.

"I do not understand it," Ivan said, giving Alfred a second to catch his breath, "But your nonsense never bores me."

Alfred both frowned and smiled, confused whether he had just been insulted or complimented. He didn't have long to think about it before Ivan had pushed him onto the bed and was taking his mouth once more.

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Alfred woke before dawn with a wicked idea. He sat up and pinched Ivan's side. _Wham!_ Ivan's fist went in his face, knocking him backwards off the bed, he land on the floor with a_whump_, his legs still tangled in the covers on the bed.

For a second, he lay there, then the pain and smell of blood started to sink in. "SHIT!" he cried, pinching his noise and scrambling to his feet, he kept his head tilted back. His words sounded nasally as he spoke. "What the hell, man?"

"Hmm?" Ivan mumbled sleepily, sitting up. Alfred could just make out his silhouette in the grey light. "Matthew? You fell out of bed?"

"No thanks to someone!" Alfred grumbled. "I mean shit, dude, where did you learn to react that way! A guy pinches you and you punch him?"

"I punched you?" Ivan said concern in his voice as he slipped out of bed and examined Alfred's nose. "Is it broken?"

"Hey," Alfred tried to back away, but Ivan kept him close, one hand on Alfred's back and the other cupping his chin as he turned Alfred's face this way and that, trying to see in the scant lighting. "It's fine. Not broken thankfully, but damn that was just messed up."

"My apologies, Sunflower," Ivan said, and to Alfred's surprise, he sounded like he meant it. "Come back to bed and lay down, pet. It will help," Ivan urged, guiding Alfred toward it.

Naked and cold, Alfred didn't protest much, but crawled back under the covers. Ivan stepped over him and snuggled against his side. He petted Alfred's hair. Alfred shuddered at the tingle in his groin when those fingers brushed his stubborn strand of hair.

"You have to teach me that trick," Alfred said, letting go of his nose. It wasn't bleeding anymore. "I mean geez that is screwed up, but damn it's awesome!" Alfred said, thinking of the possibilities. Nobody would dare wake him up again!

Ivan giggled and asked, "Why did you pinch me, love?"

"Oh yeah," Alfred said. "I was trying to wake you up like you did me."

"Foolish."

Alfred narrowed his eyes briefly at the Russian, but continued, "_Anyhoo_, the least you can do is answer my questions."

"What questions?" Ivan inquired warily.

"Simple. What about you? Your childhood?" Ivan's hand froze and pulled away from Alfred's hair as he laid flat on his back.

"What about it?" He asked coldly.

Alfred had only been curious, but now he felt he had touched on something troubling to the Russian. He debated dropping it, but now he was more curious than ever. "Any brothers or sisters?" From the way Ivan tensed, Alfred was definitely venturing into dangerous territory.

"Two sisters," Ivan replied curtly. His face unreadable in the gloom

"And parents?"

"My mother died giving birth to me."

_Okay and Ivan remains Champion of Awkward Conversation Moments, _Alfred thought, saying, "Oh...I'm sorry to hear that. That must have been rough. Is your father still al-."

Ivan got out of bed, grabbing his clothes and shoes. He slipped them on and headed for the door so fast Alfred could barely ask where he was going. Ivan paused only to say, "I will return before dark."

"Hey, if I asked som-," he was cut off by the slamming door. "Awkward," he repeated, shaking his head. He shivered, now thoroughly reminded why he had to get away from Ivan.

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The next morning he found Gilbird in the same place as before. This time he wasted no time in attaching a small piece of parchment to the bird's leg with a bit of twine. When he finished, the bird pecked at his hand, drawing a welt of blood.

He scowled, wanting to punch the walking, squawking marshmallow peep. Of course, then Gilbert wouldn't get his note and that would be a pity because Gilbert was going to be so impressed with Alfred's amazing penmanship:

_Yo Gilbert! Meat at midnite! Twonite es da nite!_

_~ Majuusti!_

A bit formal, but he wanted to impress. Gilbird gave a chirp and was off. Alfred shut the window and returned to his room, sucking on his injured hand.

In his room, he went to the back of the room, or specifically the bookshelf, and pulled out a navy blue book from the second shelf. He reached behind it, feeling around until his hand found a tiny brown pouch full of powder tied shut by a bit of twine.

He held it in his palm, remembering Gilbert's warning as he gave it to Alfred that day in the Tapestry room.

_Hide this well,_ _Gilbert had urged_.

In those brief seconds before Alfred had taken off to find Ivan, Gilbert had given Alfred instructions on how to use it. As promised, he had informed Gilbert that tonight he would do this, not putting it off any longer. He just needed to think up another of his amazing battle plans.

_I can do this_, Alfred through, clutching it tightly.

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Alfred was beginning to suspect Gilbert had lied to him about handstands making you smarter by letting the blood rush to your head. All it was doing was making Alfred very dizzy. He had been standing on his hands for a couple minutes now and he didn't feel smarter.

He fell over, woozy, and held his head, stumbling to the table the chess board was on as he said, "Gotta verify it." He moved his black pawns and Ivan's white. Seven moves later, it was checkmate. Even when _he_ played Ivan's pieces, Ivan still won. How did that work. "Dammit!" he cursed, adding, "Gilbert, you lying jerk!"

"Maybe I didn't do it long enough?" he thought. He was having problems thinking up a plan. This was the first time this had ever happened. A glint of light from under the bed caught his eye. Kneeling down, he flipped up the loose bed sheet and spotted one of Ivan's bottles of Vodka, still three quarters full. The Russian often used them for a "nightcap" as he put it.

Alfred nodded. He had his plan.

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Alfred tired himself out practicing the sword positions Gilbert had been cool enough to teach him once. He collapsed in front of the fireplace only meaning to doze, but next thing he knew, Ivan was carrying him bridal-style to the bed.

Before Ivan could deposit him there, Alfred's nose twitched, detecting a sweet scent. His eyes shot open and he struggled so hard, Ivan had to almost drop him. _Could it be?_ Alfred thought and the moment his feet found the floor, he ran to the table. The chessboard was back on the sill and in its place was a four-tall stack of pancakes, drenched in syrup.

He could have cried. He almost did as he sat down and shoveled them in. Bliss.

"I brought them," Ivan said. Alfred paused with a mouthful, blinking. _Did he just say what I thought he did?_ He wondered. "As an apology for my abrupt departure earlier. They said it was your favorite."

That wasn't quite true. Burgers would always be his most beloved. They were the Prince's favorite, but Alfred loved them too. Ivan had an almost serene expression as he watched Alfred stuff them in.

"What about you?" Alfred tried to say, crumbs spitting out, it came out more like, "Wmmpha mmmpu?"

Ivan understood though and shook his head, answering, "I ate earlier."

That reminded Alfred of the world outside the West Wing. The world Ivan was keeping him from. Yet Ivan in these past few hours had seemed so reasonable. _Could I talk to him? Convince him to let me go?_ Alfred wondered, remembering his earlier attempt at that. _No_, he realized. Ivan was only reasonable when he felt Alfred was trapped under his thumb.

That thought made Alfred angrier and more resolute. He was tired of this. Tired of being confused. Tired of pretending. This couldn't go on. Alfred needed his freedom.

He realized Ivan was eyeing him hungrily, watching as Alfred finished off the pancakes. Alfred would not have much time to start his plan before Ivan pounced on him.

Shivering under that gaze, he steeled himself, taking his last bite.

( END OF CHAPTER 24. The fluff is over. Some more smut and then Alfred launches his plan. Will it work? What will happen in the next installment? Find out in** Chapter 25: Let the Games Begin**)


	25. Chapter 25: Let the Games Begin

**Chapter 25:** **Let the Games Begin**

(Smutterific! Sorry not the best written. I got a little bored and wanted to get to the next chapter so forgive me if it gets a little long at times. I was lazy ~)

"Vodka!" Alfred yelped, ducking out of the chair as Ivan snatched at him. The clattering of his hastily dropped fork on the plate rang through the air as Ivan stared at him, confused. "Let's drink vodka!" Alfred declared, sidling around the table and the other chair to the edge of the bed. He bent down, pulling out the bottle and two shot glasses with one hand.

"A challenge?" Ivan groaned in annoyance, not even bothering with a smile.

"Not quite," Alfred said, a nervous titter in his voice. _C'mon what are you anxious about?_ He told himself. "Hey, sit down, I'm pouring," he continued, placing the stuff on the table before directing Ivan onto the bed.

_Now to do this without being spotted_, he thought, his eyes searching, _bingo_. He grabbed the empty plate and shoved it at Ivan, he asked, "Snowflake, would you put this outside?"

"We can do that later," Ivan protested, but Alfred insisted. Ivan gave him a look of, _you owe me_, and headed over. Alfred wasted no time, yanking his pants on, he reached into the pocket, sparing a couple glances of his shoulder, he pulled out the pouch, yanked off the twine, and emptied the contents into Ivan's glass. By the time Ivan returned, Alfred was holding up the man's glass, letting the vodka swirl around in it.

He put his grin on ultra high as he said, "Thirsty my m-mint Muffin?" Dammit, there it was again. While this was the first time he'd ever drugged someone's drink, he wasn't a virgin to pulling a one over on someone. So why was he so _nervous_. _Coz it's the murderous Lord Ivan, perhaps?_ His head answered. He wanted to hit it. Why did his head have to be so sarcastic?

"How disappointing," Ivan said, looking down to up on Alfred. "You put your pants on."

"Well, I was embarrassed," Alfred said and he was. Only during storytelling did he feel comfortable being naked because then he was in the moment.

"Cute," Ivan purred. He took the drink and kissed Alfred's lips. Alfred leaned away, laughing, "C'mon man, don't put my hard work to waste. Chug it! Chug it!"

Ivan studied him and then the glass, rolling it back and forth, he smiled and replied, "I would not dream of wasting your efforts." He lifted it to his lips and paused, asking, "Is something the matter, pet?"

Alfred averted his gaze, realizing he'd been staring, He stammered, "N-No, not at all. You just looked so sexy." It wasn't entirely a lie.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Alfred tensed.

"What do you mean?"

"Drink with me. I remember last time," Ivan said, staring away sadly. "The problems of that morning." Alfred started reaching to touch the faded bruises on his throat and stopped himself, letting his hand fall back to the table.

Alfred forced a laugh, saying, "Ha, ha, don't worry about it. All water under the bridge."

Ivan's smile changed subtly. Alfred couldn't say what it was, just that it became lifeless somehow. "What about you, Sunflower?" Ivan asked, nodding toward the other glass. "You will drink too, da?"

"O-Of course!" Alfred agreed, whirling around he poured himself one, his hands shaking a little. _Stop it_, he snapped at himself. He was the hero, not some coward.

Coming back to face Ivan, he could have turned into a puddle of relief at the sight of Ivan's empty glass and Ivan swallowing. _Mission accomplished_, he thought, relaxing. Now it was just a waiting game.

"More," Ivan ordered, holding out his glass, that eerie grin plastered to his face. Alfred gulped down his and obliged them both. They clinked to their second round and downed more. Alfred coughed a little as the searing liquid oozed down his throat. _God, how can Russians drink this stuff?_

"Come, my love," Ivan urged, setting his empty glass down, he fell back onto the bed, spread eagle. Patting beside him, he said, "Talk with me."

"Okay~" Alfred chimed, watching for signs that it was working. _What is supposed to happen?_ Alfred wondered. Gilbert had kind of rushed the explanation. Crawling on all fours, a little buzzed from the two shots, he was yanked onto the man's chest when Ivan hooked a hand around his nape and pulled him down.

Alfred lay there, ear against that cool chest, listening to Ivan's very slow heartbeat. _Is that normal?_ He wondered, forgetting his thoughts as Ivan's soft fingers smoothed his hair. It was soothing and he found himself sleepy.

_No_, he chided himself, forcing himself to stay awake. "Ivan," he began.

"Da?"

"How old are you?" He could be random too. Besides if direct family questions were off the table, there were other indirect ways to learn Ivan's story.

"I believe thirty."

"Thirty?" Alfred gasped, jerking up, staying in a hovering position over Ivan's chest. _My God, he's ancient!_ he thought, _but he doesn't look that much older than me_. "Wait, what do you mean believe?"

"I never celebrate my birthday so I often forget," Ivan replied, yawning.

"You _don't_ celebrate your birthday?" Alfred exclaimed in horror. It was the most tragic thing he'd ever heard of. "That's...that's awful! I mean what about birthday cake, presents, and," he gasped again, "pin the tail on the donkey! How can you miss out on all that?"

"I do not enjoy parties," Ivan stated.

Alfred opened his mouth about to say, _then it's settled. Your next birthday I'll hold you such a party_, but catching the fallacy in those words, he said instead, "That's too bad."

He put himself back against Ivan's chest and for a time they stayed there in silence. A little bored, he started tracing circles across Ivan's stomach, enjoying the coolness. Feeling playful, he tweaked Ivan's right nipple. Ivan grunted and tightened his embrace of Alfred. One of his hands when to Nantucket, teasing it.

Aflred bit back a moan as his groin twitched. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he felt turned on. His lips went to Ivan's stomach, kissing up until they found the man's other nipple; he tongued it.

Nantucket was tugged at and rubbed. Ivan dragged Alfred up higher until their lips and tongues were meeting. The arm encircled around Alfred's waist went to his nipple, pinching it. Alfred groaned in Ivan's mouth, bucking his hardness into Ivan's abs. He could feel Ivan's length pressing into his thigh.

Ivan suddenly grabbed Alfred's shoulders and pulled him back, asking, "Sunflower, you love me, da?"

Alfred blushed. _Way to interrupt a moment_, he thought, spluttering, "What kind of question is that?" It was one he didn't know how to answer. Love to him was always something that ended with two people riding off into the sunset, something he couldn't imagine doing with Ivan. Loving Ivan was too complicated. There were so many dark things about the man that Alfred's head spun just thinking about it.

Not wanting to lie, but not wanting to answer, "no", Alfred did the best thing he could think of and said, "I'm not sure."

Ivan's smile remained stoic and his expression unreadable. He placed a hand on Alfred's cheek and where his middle finger touched in the hair just above Alfred's left ear there was a sharp _zap_.

Alfred yelped, jumping back, he clutched at the spot. It stung. "What was that? Did you pinch me?"

"No," Ivan said, shaking his head. "It was static, da?"

"I guess so," Alfred said, rubbing at it. Before he could say anything else, Ivan seized his right wrist and yanked him into a fierce kiss. Ivan's other hand roamed Alfred's back, teasing his ass crack.

_Did Gilbert give me a sleeping point or an aphrodisiac?_ Alfred wondered, unable to believe how horny Ivan was. Or how he himself was, but that had to be the vodka.

"Ivan," he panted, fumbling at the man's clothes. They were naked moments later. "Let me...," he managed as Ivan threw his pants aside, "...inside you."

Ivan froze, facing Alfred with widened eyes. Alfred tensed at that dark expression, sure he would be yelled at, but Ivan, to his shock, answered, "Very well."

"Really?" Ivan nodded. It would be Alfred's first time in anyone.

He leaned over the bed, fumbling for the lube, he never found it. Ivan grabbed his wrists and threw him on his back, pinning his hands against the bed board. "Wha...," he trailed off, as Ivan placed both knees on either side and grabbed Alfred's stalk positioning himself. "You're kidding," Alfred said. _He wouldn't..._, but he did. With no preparation, Ivan impaled himself on Alfred's member.

"You're in...ah...ah," Alfred gasped, lost in Ivan's tight hole. _What have I been missing out on? _he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Ivan waited only a moment to adjust and then lifted himself off and went down again.

Jolted by the force, Alfred opened his eyes. Ivan's brow was furrowed in concentration and the man purred as he began rocking against Alfred. _Doesn't it hurt?_ Alfred wondered, but he loved it at first until Ivan started slamming himself up and down on Alfred with almost bone-crushing force.

"S-Stop, not s-so...nggh...rough," he winced, thrusting a little into Ivan. Ivan sped up and it became more painful and slicker. Alfred figured out why. His lap and stalk were coated with Ivan's blood. "My God, stop!" he said, but Ivan rode him faster and harder.

He wriggled and struggled, but Ivan's grip was iron. Ivan's eyes were shut and the man was biting his lip, grunting, lost in his own ecstasy. _He's enjoying the pain?_ Alfred realized, stunned.

His horror only grew as Ivan tossed his head back, moaning and grunting, as he slammed down on him wildly. Alfred worried the bed would collapse beneath them. He struggled harder, wanting away from the bruising force, but Ivan held him.

Clenching his teeth, he tried to focus on the pleasure of Ivan's dark cavern. He needed to climax to stop this, but it was too painful to give him release and yet to pleasurable for his erection not to stay rock-hard. He was stuck between the two while Ivan rode him hard.

On and on it went, Alfred begging for release. Ivan cried out and groaned in ways Alfred had never heard before. "Sunflower!" He kept saying in between his other sounds. Finally, his muscles clenched around Alfred and he slowed. The pleasure overrode the pain and heat pooled in Alfred's groin, he released into Ivan, thrusting hard. Hoping it hurt, because damn was he pissed!

Ivan rocked against Alfred a little longer, his seed spurting out in ribbon's over Alfred's chest as he gasped and panted, collapsing on top. He let go of Alfred who wasted no time, shoving him to the side, not like the feel of cum sandwiched between them.

"You ass!" Alfred griped, gaping in shock at his bloody lap. He tried to stand, but sat back down, pain shooting through him. He would be so bruised.

"What?" Ivan said sleepily, shutting his eyes and setting his forehead against Alfred's forehead.

"Look at this!" Alfred said, gesturing at the mess. "I mean, what the hell!" Ivan was already dozing. "Fucker," Alfred muttered. Alfred never thought he'd think it, but he preferred Ivan inside him. _That was screwed up_, he thought.

While he fumed in his head, his eyelids drooped and at some point he fell asleep.

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Alfred's eyes popped open. _I dozed. Shit_, he thought, sitting up. His glasses were still on if a little askew; he adjusted them. There was no way to know how long he had been out, but judging from the fire not too long. It had not yet burned down to embers. But he had been out long enough for the sun to set.

He studied Ivan. Ivan was snuggled up against him, most of his upper torso uncovered.

_Is the potion working yet?_ He wondered, deciding to do a test. He reached over with his hand and poked Ivan's cheek, pulling away fast. Nothing. Ivan's breathing remained steady, the covers rising and falling.

More daring, he did it again, prodding Ivan's forehead, chin, nose, eye, all over his chest, and yes, down _there_ too. Nothing. He steeled himself for the ultimate test and held up his other hand, ready to catch Ivan's punch, he pinched Ivan's side. Nothing.

Sighing in relief, he slipped out of the covers, rounding up his clothes and scrubbing himself off with wet rag from the wash basin as he called Ivan, "Idiot." When nothing happened he continued with, "Moron, jerkface, commie bastard...," and more until he had cleaned himself off, dressed and had taken a folded piece of parchment from one of the books on the shelf and stuffed that in his pocket.

There was no reaction. Emboldened, he clambered onto the bed, straddling Ivan he leaned over, feeling the man's cool breath on his lips. _He's kinda handsome_, Alfred admitted, sure it was the lingering effect of the Vodka on his brain. He shut his eyes and gently kissed the man, savoring that minty taste. He sighed and rolled off. Pulling his dagger out from between the mattresses, he tucked it in one of his belt loops.

He glanced longingly at the chessboard, wishing he could take it with him. Alfred rather shared an enjoyment of the game with Ivan even if he did lose a lot. _One day I'll crush him_, Alfred believed and that motivated him to improve.

At the door, he turned back, opening it a little, he said the one thing he'd been aching to tell Ivan for a while now, "You are...," he paused, reaching deep into his heart, "a _real _jackass," and slipped out, shutting the door quietly.

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He walked backwards for a few feet, wincing at the pain in his thigh muscles. He watched the door, just to be sure he wasn't followed. Alfred didn't know why he was being so paranoid, but he'd been having a bad feeling all day. Rolling heel to toe, he continued backwards until he passed the tower stairs, his ears straining for the slightest sound. Silence.

Again the area above his left ear tingled and he scratched at it. _Maybe a mosquito bit it earlier and Ivan's finger just rubbed on that_, he considered, turning around. He hurried for the tapestry room.

Once there, he was not so eager. Clinging to the door knob like a life line, he scanned the room. With only starlight to see by, it had an eerie, downright haunted air about it.

_Oh shit_, he thought, gulping. Ivan's bed was suddenly so much more appealing than this ghostly-haven. His was growing more and more positive there had to be a headless spirit of evil floating about here somewhere. _This is just spook central_, he thought.

Tapping into the deepest reserves of his courage, he whispered, "G-G-Gilbert?" His eyes strained for sign of the pale man, gazing at the fireplace. In his mind, he visualized the figures on the mantel coming alive and writhing, their faces twisted in demonic grins.

His feet were already turning to bolt for Ivan's room when a voice hissed, "Idiot! What took you so long? I was just about to go risk a look."

Alfred sagged in relief, looking around, he whispered, "Gilbert?"

"No, it's the fucking tooth fairy! Who do you think it is?" Gilbert said, throwing back the tapestry to reveal a hidden opening in the wall that he was crouched in. It was foot up from the floor and only large enough for Alfred to fit in if he crawled.

_Oh, so it was behind the tapestry_, Alfred thought. Gilbert waved at him impatiently, sniping, "What? Are you going to stand there all night with your thumb up your butt or what?"

_Why did I want to see him again?_ Alfred wondered, frowning, but he came over as Gilbert stepped out and let him crawl inside. The stone tunnel widened abruptly four feet in and there was sharp drop off. Alfred not seeing it, tumbled over, face planting in the stone.

"Oh, watch for the drop off," Gilbert _now_ warned. Alfred threw a glare at him, rubbing his bruised nose as he stood up. The ceiling was a foot too low still so he had to keep his neck bent. There was a low scarping noise and he glanced back to see their only light source cut off by the stone door closing.

A click followed and he heard Gilbert pad over and then the albino's hand came on his shoulder urging him forward as Gilbert said, "Let's go. Be careful it turns into stairs that wind sharply down. At the bottom I left my lantern so we won't be in darkness for long."

Alfred nodded even though Gilbert couldn't see that. Keeping his hands on the walls, he felt forward with his feet until he found the first step. It was not just sharp, it was practically a vertical drop. He had to crab walk down the wet, grimy stairs to keep from falling. Even then it wasn't easy, they were slippery as a frog and his lap ached like a bastard in this position.

As they went down, the stale, moist smell in the air grew stronger, but the darkness lessened until he could see a little. Finally, the orange glow of Gilbert's lantern became visible and he was relieved to be able to see again and to stand almost upright.

Gilbert squeezed around him and picked up the lantern, grumbling, "This way." Alfred followed in silence for a bit, fascinated by his surroundings. The passage was crudely carved and lined in many places with moss. _It feels old_, he thought.

His curiosity overwhelmed him and he said, "So is this really a secret passage?"

"No, we only call it that for kicks," Gilbert replied sarcastically. "What do you think it is?"

Alfred scowled at his back, continuing, "Why did the Prince make it? He's invisible enough that I think he could parade around naked and no one would notice."

Gilbert snickered, but answered, "He didn't make it."

"Then who did?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Wouldn't know. Never asked."

"How come?"

"Never cared to. It's enough that it's here."

That briefly ended the conversation until Alfred asked, "Where are we going?"

"Where do you think we're going?" Gilbert asked. "To his Majesty's room."

"Is it a secret room?"

Gilbert sighed heavily and they walked on in silence. Alfred got bored, his mind became occupied elsewhere, remembering how Ivan, despite being awkward to talk to, was always intriguing to Alfred. _I sorta will miss that_, he admitted, but he didn't know what would happen next. Would they send him back? Would he go back if they tried?

_It's too complicated_, he mumbled, massaging the bridge of his nose. He halted, his boot screeching on the stone. "What was that?" he breathed, scratching above his ear.

"What was what?" Gilbert asked in a low voice.

"I heard something. A scraping noise," he replied, staring deeply into the darkness behind him.

He heard Gilbert set down the lantern and slide out his sword. Alfred gripped the handle of his dagger. A tense wait followed. They listened. A squeaking noise came and Gilbert relaxed, chuckling, "Just rats."

"Are you sure? What if...," he trailed off, frightened of the possibility. He had been with Ivan so long the man had started to take on almost god-like qualities in his mind.

"Did he drink the potion?"

"Yes," Alfred answered.

"Then he's asleep. That stuff's tough to come by these days, but it can put even an Eternal to sleep."

"What's an Eternal?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at Gilbert.

Gilbert shook his head and mumbled, "Americans." He turned around and started walking again.

"But what if it's someone else... like...like...," Alfred let his voice drop off, frightened of what he was implying.

"Like what? A ghost?"

"Yes!" He gasped. Gilbert was a mind-reader!

"Stupid," Gilbert muttered, "Well, what do you want me to do if it is? I locked the door, but that wouldn't stop a ghost."

"Wow, you can lock the secret passage door thingie?"

"Nah, we just usually leave a big sign over it saying, ENTER HERE," Gilbert retorted. "Obviously we can lock it!"

"Ass," he grumbled, shooting Gilbert's back the finger.

"That's Awesome Ass to you, buddy."

Alfred rolled his eyes and they didn't speak again until they reached the end of the passage. All the while though, Alfred's eyes kept drifting behind him. Sure that there was more than just darkness there.

(END OF CHAPTER 24. What was that noise? Is this the moment you have all been waiting for? Stay tuned for **Chapter 26: What Waits in Darkness!**)

(I was tempted to stick in another Gilbert burger joke but it broke the tone of this scene too much and didn't really fit so I cut it. Sorry guys.)


	26. Chapter 26: What Waits in Darkness

**Chapter 26: What Waits in Darkness**

(I think you know what's coming.)

"Yo everyone!" came a loud voice. Matthew's eyes shot up from the letter he was reading. The one written by Arthur to Peter all those years ago. Peter had arrived a hour before with Francis who must have kept a brutal pace to do it even if Francis did possess a Traveling Orb.

Alfred hopped over the last few steps and into the room. Matthew met his now mostly blue ones. The charm spell had all but worn off. A guilty-looking Gilbert came next who tried to explain, "Sorry Majesty he just ran in," Matthew waved Gilbert to silence. He understood.

He had hoped for Gilbert to give warning so they could usher Peter out through the back entrance, but Alfred had foiled that plan. _Oh well_, he thought, brushing it off a small annoyance.

Peter who was sitting on the couch, turned around, his jaw dropping. His eyes went back and forth between Alfred and Matthew as he stammered, "They...they..look the same!"

"Yes, yes," Matthew said dismissively. Francis stood near the fireplace giving Peter a warning look to stay silent and not interrupt.

The only one not reading the tension was Alfred whose gaze went all over the place as he beamed and guffawed, "Wow, so this is _you_r secret room? This is badass! Though," he paused, scratching at his temple, "What's with all the floral designs and maple leaf stuff? Needs some more blue to match the red and white if you ask me."

"No one did," Francis said through gritted teeth.

Like a kid in a candy store, Alfred was everywhere, exploring this and that, looking under the bed and then in Matthew's chest of clothing. "Alfred!" Matthew snapped, but the boy didn't seem to hear him at all.

"Alfred!" Gilbert tried, but Alfred was peeking in the drawers of Matthew's small bedside dresser. Bored, he was running toward the desk where Matthew was seated when his attention caught on the mantel or what was above it. King Arthur's portrait loomed there, the purple curtain held back by gold tassels.

It was an oil painting and it portrayed Arthur in all his glory with blazing emeralds eyes, a red fur cloak draped over his shoulders and half his chest, one hand hidden away, while the other held a gold scepter with a lion on top. A bauble-shaped crown encrusted with rubies and diamonds gleamed on his head. His youthful face held a stern expression that the portrait tried to make older though it was well known that Arthur had been quite young when he took the throne.

Alfred stared at it, his face going slack, his mouth hung open. Matthew exchanged an excited face with Francis. _Could it be?_ He wondered, eagerly. "What is it?" Matthew asked, leaning forward as did Francis.

Alfred didn't respond, but kept staring. "Alfred?"

"Monsieur, do you recognize that man?" Francis asked, unmistakable hope creeping in his voice.

"Dude," Alfred said, pointing at the picture, "That man," he began, glancing at Matthew and Francis, "has the biggest eyebrows _ever_." Francis stumbled, catching himself on the back of the couch and Matthew groaned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gilbert roll his eyes. "I mean seriously, what died on his face?"

"Alfred!" Matthew griped, "Do you seriously not recognize him?"

"You think I'd forget brows like that?" Alfred chortled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at it. Francis looked devastated and slinked off to a chair in the corner to sulk about another destroyed lead. Alfred picked up some of the mood and glanced around, asking, "What? Did I miss something?"

_An understatement_, Matthew thought, shooting Francis a sympathetic look. _He must really miss King Arthur_. Matthew felt a pang in his heart.

Alfred was still studying the painting. "Are you okay?" Matthew asked him.

"Hmm?" Alfred said, breaking from his reverie. "Yeah," he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Just felt dizzy all of the sudden. Must be the stale air from that passage," he said and then pointed at the red-coated toy soldiers standing on the mantel, "Where did you get those?"

"Those?" Matthew repeated in confusion. "They were King Arthur's I believe."

"Shouldn't there be twelve?"

"Twelve? Why would there be twelve?"

"Just...," he began, tilting his head, "Seems like one is missing."

_Why's he going on about toys?_ He thought, shaking his head. This man got distracted easily. "No, it's an eleven soldiers set and always has been," Matthew lied, unsure if that was true, but he was tired of talking about it.

"Yeah, I'm being silly," Alfred admitted, shrugging, he turned to Matthew. "Whatcha doin' over there?"

Matthew stuffed the letter away, answering, "Nothing. Now Alfred we need to dis-."

"Yeah, oh my gosh!" Alfred interrupted, his eyes lighting up. Matthew frowned. He had been raised of a higher station so Alfred was being rude as usual. "I need to tell you. You won't bel-"

"Alfred!" Matthew snapped, tired of this rambling. He still came off very timid, but it worked for once. "Enough of your stories! Please sit down and listen. We need to ask you some questions."

Alfred looked miffed, but leaned against the back of the couch, he eyed Peter and jerked a thumb at the boy, asking, "Who brought the midget?" Gilbert snickered, but hid it at Matthew's frown.

"Midget!" Peter gasped, but quieted at Gilbert and Francis' combined warning glares.

Matthew sighed heavily and Alfred said, "Fine, fine, sorry. Whatcha' want to know? And ya better make it quick coz I'm a busy man."

That tone combined with that smug grin had Matthew's eye twitching. Not even Francis could be so annoying and frustrating. He wanted to pull out his hair and scream at Alfred.

Taking in a deep breathe, he said, "Tell me," he regained some composure, resisting the urge to chuck a book at the idiot's face. "About your childhood."

Alfred slid off the sofa, his butt thumping on the floor as he threw up his hands, yelling, "Dear God, you're kidding!" More cuss words followed as he stood up, muttering about it. Gilbert shrugged as baffled as Matthew was. _Are Americans sensitive about their childhood or something?_ He wondered.

"Stop speaking such insolent language to his Majesty!" Francis huffed in an offended voice.

"I just can't believe this!" Alfred exclaimed, repositioning himself on the couch, he crossed his arms and very pointedly told Matthew, "Fine! But no striptease for you buddy! Just the cold hard facts."

Matthew looked around sideways, now beyond perplexed. _Striptease?_ _Did I hear that right?_ _Is that some kind of American custom?_ He wondered.

"Um... agreed?" He said, unsure how to handle Alfred's outburst. Pushing up his glasses, he asked, "Where were you raised?"

"America, duh."

Again his eye twitched. "All your life? Do you remember growing up in a forest?" He asked. Francis' perked up with renewed interest.

"A forest?" Alfred repeated, amused. "No, I wasn't a caveman. I grew up in the prairies."

_That statement_, Matthew thought, shaking his head, he inquired, "With who? Who raised you?"

"My family."

_Now he speaks curtly, _ He thought, asking, "And what was their surname?"

"The Jones. We were a frontier family." Matthew's heart sunk and he saw the disappointed look in Francis's eyes, but for Matthew there was also relief. Relief that he might not be related to this dolt.

"The Jones Family?" Matthew repeated. "So they're your real parents?"

Alfred stiffened.

"They are your real parents, aren't they?"

Alfred had a rare dark look as he dropped his gaze to the floor, biting his cheek, he asked, "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I was adopted." Francis sucked in a sharped breathe and Peter appeared stunned as if he was finally accepting what might be before his eyes.

"You were?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Pops found me wandering the prairies, playing spin the buffalo with a herd. I always had a way with animals," he admitted, rubbing at his temple. "Told me once it was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen and he knew then that he had to take me home to Ma."

_Spin the buffalo_? Matthew reiterated in his head a little stunned at how strong Alfred was. His lips went dry as he continued, "How old were you?"

"Hmm... good question? Not really sure. They thought I was six at the time, but I grew up so fast. Sprouted like weed," he grinned, giving Matthew a thumbs up.

"So you don't know you're own age?" Matthew gulped.

"Well, I can't be much older than you," he chirped. Matthew flinched. "Actually I came to Canada looking for my real family."

Matthew swallowed hard, his voice almost a squeak as he said, "What makes you think you'd find them here?"

"Oh, nothing much. Pretty wild lead to be honest, but my glasses," Alfred said, touching them for emphasis. "A passing bard once told me this kind is only made here in the capital of Canada. So I came here to _Toronto_."

"_Ottawa_," he corrected.

"Oh, you Canadians," Alfred chuckled. "Actually they're just like yours."

"So," Matthew stammered, changing the subject, "Where did you live before they found you?"

Alfred's brow furrowed as concentration filled his features, then he held up his forefinger and smiled, saying, "I have no idea."

Matthew sighed, drumming his fingers on the desk. "You have no idea where you were?"

"I don't remember being found. I was kinda young," he said, shrugging. "Though I always held the theory that all the awesome things in the world just coalesced one day into me."

Gilbert nodded in agreement like that was a plausible _idea_. Matthew shot him a glare and he straightened up. "So there's nothing?"

"Yup," Alfred agreed, "Now if you're done, can I have my bomber jacket and stuff? It's been to long and I really want to wear it again. I'm tired of playing you."

_Not that you have done a great job of it_, Matthew muttered in his head, telling him, "That will have to wait. You may need to... what?" He stopped at Alfred's furtive face.

"Well, about Ivan," he started, "There's something you should know..."

Matthew's hands balled into fists. His heart pounded and he felt dizzy. It took all his strength to keep calm and not faint as he listened to what followed.

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Silence enveloped the room as Alfred finished. A funeral was more cheerful. Doom hung on everyone's faces, but one. The biggest idiot in the room who happily chirped, "But don't worry guys! I'm cooking up an awesome plan to fix this mess!" He gave a thumbs up.

If looks could killed, Matthew would have been blown him apart with his eyes. _Fix this? Fix this?_ He repeated in his head, unable to believe Alfred had just suggested that this wasn't the biggest maple up in history.

"And how do you suggest we do that, _mon imbecile_?" Francis sniped.

"Simple," Alfred announced, "We get him to stop loving me. I know what you're thinking." _Like heck you do_, Matthew thought. "Impossible because it's me, but with my brilliant plans we can't go wrong!"

Matthew just stared at him, horrified. _Really? I mean really?_ He thought.

"So listen all we have to do is...," Alfred could have been saying, _blah-blah-blah_, for all Matthew was listening. He had enough of this lunatic's ramblings. There was no way they were related. He was falling deep into despair and his vision was tunneling, but no one was noticing. _How could they?_ He wondered and then he realized all their eyes were trained on Alfred. Alfred, that idiot! Even Francis.

He was snapped out of it when Alfred pumped his fist in his palm, declaring, "And that's how we'll save Canada!"

"Pfft!" Francis sniffed, but to Matthew's surprise, the French Lord didn't seem quite so hopeless as before. None of them did. _How can that be?_ He wondered, realizing that Alfred's word had somehow raised their hopes. He had a way of making people dream that Matthew would never have.

_ It's not fair_, he wanted to scream, but the words were caught in his throat as his eyes saw the expression on everyone. Gilbert even smirked, snickering, "I can't believe you can stand that Russian prick pawing you. Must be that good ole' American constitution you prattle on about."

"Ha, ha, right dude," Alfreed agreed, continuing with his scheme. All Matthew could hear was his own heartbeat. All he could see was how they all were focused on Alfred now, not him.

At some point, Alfred had stolen the spotlight. Matthew tried to interrupt, but he could have been a piece of furniture for all the attention he got. It was alike a nightmare he often had was becoming real. In that dream he would walk through the castle, unnoticed by all, and one day would see a funeral procession going out of the castle only to realize it was him in a casket. He was a ghost and nothing was different.

Just like now. Matthew who struggled every day for a scrap of attention was reduced to a shade when next to Alfred. He quivered, dark feelings bubbling out of his heart. _How dare this barbarian rattle on like he's knows anything_, he thought, fingernails digging into his palms.

Listening again, he realized Alfred wasn't even talking about his scheme anymore. He had drifted off topic to some story. _A_ _effin' maple story, _Matthew thought.

"...and then I'm like twenty burgers! You're shittin' me, but...," Alfred rattled on and on. To Matthew's horror, Francis chuckled, quickly disguising it. His eyes roved up and down lewdly on Alfred. _No_, Matthew whimpered in his head. _Don't see him that way. Not you_.

He pulled a heavy, red book off the small bookshelf above the desk. No one noticed. "Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat.

"So after that, this dude..."

"Excuse me!" Matthew said louder. He could have dropped dead and croaked on the floor and they still wouldn't be aware of him.

"...and then I was like I betcha' can't do that while..."

"I SAID EXCUSE ME!"

Alfred paused, looking around the room, the continued on, "...juggling. But boy did he show me. He was like you haven't se-" Matthew threw the book splat in his face. It landed on the floor with a thud. "Jesus," Alfred yelled, clutching at his injured nose, his eyes finally saw Matthew. "What the hell, man?"

"That get your attention?" Matthew remarked, his tone bitter. "Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

"Mon ch-," Francis began.

"Not a word!" Matthew said, slicing over him. "From any of you." He pointed at them, then at Alfred, "especially _you_. You are the most crude, ill-mannered ruffian I have ever met! I gave you one job! Get _fucked _by Ivan," Gilbert and Francis's eyes bugged out from the use of swear, "and you _fucked_ that up. Too stupid to just there and be used, are we?"

He had never been so alive with anger. Gilbert was gaping now. Francis seemed both shocked and turned on by it. Alfred, however, had a grave expression, one mixed with hurt. Matthew felt a sudden stab of guilt, but he wouldn't stop now.

"Stupid?" Alfred replied cooly. "Ruffian? If you want to blame someone, why don't you look in a mirror, buddy? Coz last time I checked, I wasn't the one who _hired_ me."

"How dare you!" Matthew snapped, jumping to his feet. Alfred and he glared at each other.

"Majesty, don't," Gilbert tried to interrupt, grabbing his hilt, but Matthew stopped with with a fierce look. Matthew had his hand on his slender blade's handle. Alfred didn't grab his weapon though. _Not that stupid_, Matthew admitted as Alfred kept his gaze fixed on Matthew.

Something was breaking in his heart, but he couldn't stop the floodgate of emotions rushing out. He was shaking with anger and bitterness and something else. "Leave my kingdom," Matthew commanded, his gaze fixed on Alfred. "Now and don't come back."

Though Alfred tried to hide it, his eyes eyes looked devastated and sad. _Please just go_, pleaded a softer side of Matthew. Deep down, it wasn't entirely anger he was thinking with. Matthew was doomed. Ivan would find out now, one way or other, and contrary to what Alfred believed, there would be no forgiveness. The best Matthew could do for his friends was drive them away.

_It's all my fault_, he acknowledged in his heart. The only thing he could do was spare Alfred a worse fate than his own.

_You need to get out of here_, he thought, looking at them all. _Leave me to pay for my own mistake._

Alfred's hands fisted at his side and he said in a voice full of barely-concealed anguish, "And what about Ivan? How will you explain it?"

"You dressed as me. So now I'll dress as me," he answered.

"Mon cher," Francis uttered, shaking his head.

"I don't think tha-," Gilbert tried to say, but Matthew cut over him.

"Gilbert, you are my friend, but you are also the Captain of the Guard first. When I want your advice, I will ask for it. Are we clear?"

Gilbert's face turned grim and insulted but he nodded and said, "Crystal."

"Now get this fool out of my sight," He ordered, hiding the tremble in it well.

"As you wish," Gilbert said, bowing, he waited by the bottom of the stairs for Alfred.

"What about our terms?" Alfred demanded.

"Well since you didn't complete the contract," Matthew answered, "I can't give everything we promised, but you will get double your money in compensation as long as you agree never to return."

Alfred's lips thinned, but he nodded, replying, "Fine, I'm sick of this land anyway."

_I'm sorry_, Matthew wanted to say, but it was too late now. Francis' had a mournful expression and Peter appeared to be attempting to disappear into the sofa. Kumajaro was hidden and shaking under the couch like he wanted no part of this.

Matthew wasn't feeling so proud of his angry outburst anymore or the fact that he had gotten their attention. A disgusted feeling was entering him, but he would hold out until Alfred was gone. Then he would cry. Cry for himself. Cry for what he had done.

Alfred paused in front of Gilbert at the bottom of the stairs, facing Matthew, he said, "You know what your problem is?"

Matthew didn't reply because he knew if he did, his voice would break.

"No trust," Alfred said, "In yourself or others."

He was just turning when Gilbert reached out and touched the hair above Alfred's left ear, he asked, "What's this?"

"What's what?" Alfred inquired, temporarily distracted from his anger.

"This," Gilbert leaned closer, "This frost in your hair?"

"Frost?" Alfred was just saying when a flash of purple light exploded from the stairs sending Gilbert up into the air and into the wall. He smacked into it and fell with a _whumph_ on the bed.

Matthew's blood froze at the clack of boots and sight of Ivan. Suddenly the Russian had Alfred's arms pinned behind his back and the pipe, glowing with an eerie purple light, at the boy's throat.

"Do not move _comrade_," He warned, his eyes lit with insanity and his mouth in an equally perturbing grin.

"Not awesome," Gilbert managed and then collapsed, blood leaking from his head.

_Gilbert!_ Matthew wanted to shout, his throat voiceless. He moved, but Francis was beside him, holding him back.

"Let me go!" Alfred cried, struggling, but that only made Ivan press the pipe harder against his windpipe.

_How?_ Matthew wondered, his heart thudding madly in his chest. He would not faint. He wouldn't, he told himself, but he had never been more terrified than when those violet eyes settled on him and giggled, "Hello _Matthew._"

(END OF CHAPTER 26. Dun dun DUN! The moment you've been waiting for! The lies are unravelling for our poor hero! What will happen next now that Ivan knows? Stay tuned for **Chapter 27: Made A Fool Of ** )

(Is there any hope for our hero and the shy Prince? Stay tuned as we build to the climax of Part One. )

(Sorry if this was a little rushed, but I thought it was readable enough.)


	27. Chapter 27: Made A Fool Of

**Chapter 27:** **Made A Fool Of **

(Wow, I mean just wow. The last chapter must have struck quite a chord with a lot of people. The feedback was unbelievable. Thank you all! My visitors counter went through the roof and the last chapter set a record in number of reviews. Almost 30. O.O I guess you guys were reaaally excited about the last one.

And since plans got cancelled this weekend, due to inclement weather, I had more time to write.

Hope this one can carry on the momentum as things go from bad to worse...)

(Oh and I broke the chapter in half. My apologies)

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Matthew needed time to plan. An option he didn't have right now.

Alfred looked a mixture of horrified and pissed as Ivan held his wrists behind him and the faucet pipe at the American's throat. _I can't breathe_, was the only thought Matthew could make. His heart was thunking at what felt like a million beats per second. Francis' fingers were digging painfully into his upper arm while he sat motionless with indecision.

"Damn commie!" Alfred snarled, "Shoulda known you were some kinda wizard!"

"And more," Ivan purred, licking the shell of the boy's ears, his eyes never left the _real_ Matthew's.

Alfred's face turned red as he struggled, hollering, "Stop that you sick fuck! Don't touch me! Don't breathe on me and _don't_ fuckin' lick me!"

Ivan chuckled and whispered something too low for Matthew to hear, but it made the American go crimson and shriek, "You'll fuckin' what? WHAT? Get off me!" Alfred froze when the pipe was pulled sharply against his throat and he had no choice but to lean his head back, against the crook of Ivan's neck and shoulder, or suffocate. Ivan's eyes remained livid as he gazed at Matthew, but his grin softened as those gold hairs brushed his chin and left jawline.

Matthew shuddered at the display of forced intimacy. _This is not right_, he thought.

"You seem surprised, _Matthew_," Ivan said, directing his words at the real Prince. The Russian rested his chin against the top of Alfred's head, breathing in the boy's scent. Alfred looked furious. "I would have died long ago if I was unable to recognize when someone was attempting to drug me."

Matthew's eyes dared to leave Ivan's and flicker to Gilbert whose blood was turning the large maple leaf pattern on his bed spread into a dark red splotch. _Gilbert_, he cried, wanting to run over. The wound while bleeding didn't look too severe but he couldn't be sure. Yet he didn't dare move.

Licking his lips, his voice came out a whisper as he said, "He...," his hands clenched at his pants. Francis squeezed harder, urging him not to speak, but Matthew returned to Ivan's gaze, and managed, "Alfred...is not your _slave_." He had done it. To his surprise, the dizziness lessened.

Alfred appeared touched, but Ivan was not amused, "Not _mine?_" he sneered. "You are mistaken. He will come to Russia and become one with me."

"Like hell I will!" Alfred yelled, renewing his futile struggle until he realized Ivan was _enjoying_ Alfred wriggling against him.

Matthew gripped the arms of the chair, his whole body trembled, but somehow he found the courage and strength to stand. Francis tried hard to hold him down, but he ignored the French Lord and faced Ivan, speaking to the Russian Lord as one would a very spoiled child, "That man is," he paused, swallowing hard. The truth was hard to say, but it was something deep down he had known all along from the very first time he had laid eyes on Alfred. _He _had known. "He is _my_ brother and you cannot take him," he uttered and to his amazement the faint feelings vanished like a poof of smoke.

_Was that all I had to do?_ He wondered. _Was admit what was in my heart?_

Alfred's dumbstruck expression was priceless. Ivan's grin became plastered and the Russian Lord shook, his features at war with showing his true emotions. After a minute, Ivan calmed himself and giggled, "You think I will fall for more of your lies? This boy is nothing to you! I heard the way you spoke to him just now like he was a maggot to you."

"They did-" Alfred began to protest, but was cut off when the pipe was jerked into his throat. His face went a shade of purple before Ivan released it. Alfred coughed and spluttered for air.

"Stop filling my pet with lies," Ivan warned.

"He is not your pet!"

"Mon cher!" Francis whispered.

"Give me back my brother!"

"You dare command me?" Ivan hissed, the pipe started to glow and the temperature plummeted.

"Snowflake!" Alfred gasped, squirming until his face was tilted up toward Ivan. "Snowflake," he repeated, his voice oozing sweetness. Ivan broke his gaze from Matthew to meet Alfred's gaze. The air warmed a bit.

"Da, my Sunflower?"

"Spare them. I'll do what you want. I-I'll go with you," Alfred said, unable to entirely mask the sadness in his voice. Matthew knew his twin's feelings well. He could see the sorrow and resolve in his brother's eyes. _He's sacrificing himself_, Matthew thought and that made him sick with guilt. "Just stop this. Please?"

Ivan's features softened and he slackened the pressure of the pipe. "Sunflower," he said, "I know you think they are worth it, but you must not go easy on these worms. They are nothing to you."

_The way he speaks to him_, Matthew noted with disgust. If this was their relationship, it was heading for a cliff. With such a lopsided situation, Ivan would just become more and more controlling of Alfred until he broke the man.

"They are..." Alfred trailed off, glancing at Matthew, "people who don't deserve this."

"Look at them," Ivan continued, nodding at the others. "The way they snivel. That Prince despite his words just now will do nothing. They cower like worms. They are abandoning you to me like a sacrifice and for that I will not give them mercy."

"I see," Alfred said, his face remaining unreadable as his gaze shifted to Francis and then to Matthew. Matthew's inside knotted with guilt. _This is my fault_, he said again in his head and for just a moment something, a buzz of energy, stirred with in him and faded.

_What was that?_ He pondered.

Ivan rubbed his nose against the boy's nape, taking in another whiff, he chuckled, "You see. You are alone with no one to protect you, but me."

"You're right," Alfred sighed, slumping forward. Ivan lowered the pipe, his grin lighting up at Alfred's defeat, Ivan's other arm drew the boy to him. Alfred tilted his head at just the right angle where Ivan could not see his face, but where Matthew could. Matthew's breath caught. _Did he just wink at me?_ He wondered, blinking. He had to have imagined it.

"You're right," Alfred admitted as he drooped lower, shifting his weight to his right. Ivan didn't even notice. Matthew watched unable to move. "I have no one but you, Snowflake. The other's won't save me...," he trailed off, sniffling.

Matthew tilted his head. The crying almost sounded forced. _But that can't be unless..._, and then he realized, his eyes widening.

"Pet," Ivan said sympathetically, hugging Alfred closer.

"They won't protect me...," Alfred moped and just as Ivan loosened his grip, Alfred grinned and rammed his heel into Ivan's shin, flinging the back of his head into Ivan's nose as he shouted, "BECAUSE I'M THE FUCKIN' HERO!"

Alfred sprung free, but it didn't last. His freedom foiled by Ivan's swinging his pipe that just clipped Alfred's nape, a purple jolt of light shot into the American. His body went limp and his eyes lolled up, slumping forward, he was saved from the floor by Ivan's arm catching the unconscious American and hooping around his waist.

"Alfred!" Matthew cried, grabbing at his sword's hilt, but Francis wrapped his arms around Matthew, holding him back.

"No Mon Cher! It's suicide!"

Ivan smiled, blood trickling down one of his nostrils as he hoisted up Alfred and held him bridal-style, hooking one arm under the boy's legs. He kept the pipe in his left hand. Matthew was astonished at how easily Ivan did it like Alfred was light as a feather.

"Look what you made me do to my beloved!" Ivan accused Matthew, his tone filled with bitterness and rage. "Filling his head with your falsehoods!"

_What I did?_ Matthew thought, aghast. _Ivan really is insane. _At least he could see from the rise and fall of Alfred's chest that he was still breathing. He had only been knocked out.

"I will thank you for one thing, _Matthew_, " Ivan taunted, regaining himself as he gazed down at Alfred with what one could only describe as a _loving _expression. "You brought this treat to me and for that I may be kind and only take _ten_ summers from Canada and France."

_Ten years?_ Matthew flinched. There wouldn't be a kingdom left by the end of it. Francis hitched in a breathe.

"Perhaps, for this boy's sake I could be merciful," Ivan mused, his eyes glittering with malice. Matthew tensed, wondering what the conditions would be. "If you come to me this evening for proper _subjugation_," Matthew's heart plummeted as Ivan continued, "and if Francis hands over his Traveling Orb."

"Monsieur, I know not wh-"

"SILENCE!" Ivan roared. "I have had enough of your games! I will have it French Pig and _you_," he sneered at Matthew, "will come this evening to see what _real_ subjugation feels like or both your lands will make Iceland look like a paradise!"

Francis was shaking behind him. _I'm the one who should be_, Matthew thought, but he wasn't. No, there was something deeper welling out of him. _What is this feeling?_ He wondered. It was not the anger from before. No, it was something else. Something more powerful and it was consuming every inch of his being.

As Ivan turned, he smiled and said, "See the bright side, Matthew. If I like your screams, I may let you keep _most_ of your fingers," and with that he mounted the steps, giggling, and was gone.

"Mon Cher," Francis sniffled, trying to pull Matthew down into a hug, but he shrugged the man off, rounding on a very surprised Francis. "Mon Cher?"

Matthew's whole body trembled, but not with fear. _This had to stop_, he thought. He was sick of it. Sick of being bullied, sat on, stomped over, ignored, and everything. But most of all, he was sick of Alfred, his twin brother, being kept from him.

_No, no more_, he thought, gripping the hilt of his slender blade, more of a ceremonial sword, but it could work in a fight. His knuckles turned white. He had had enough. Alfred was _his _brother and he would defend him.

"He's not taking him," he swore, barely noticing that Peter had run over to Gilbert and was making a crude bandage from the bedsheets for the man. Matthew's mind was elsewhere.

"Mon cher, he'll kill you!" Francis implored, grabbing at Matthew's white coat sleeve with scarlet embroidery at the cuff and lapels. It was long and came to his knees. Matthew stepped out of reach, his eyes nailing Francis to the chair who seemed stunned by the look in his eyes. _Can he feel what is flowing in me?_ He wondered distantly. His mind abuzz with a raw power like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

"Stay out of my way," he ordered Francis and spun on his heel, heading after his brother. Francis called after him, "Please Mon Cher! He will kill you!"

_We'll see_, Matthew thought, but it wasn't entirely his own. Something was inside him. Something that had long been hidden within the depths of his soul. An ageless power.

_Alfred, wait for me!_ He pleaded in his mind, skipping over every other step, he hoped it wouldn't be too hard to figure out which way the Russian had gone.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Francis watched Matthew disappear, slumping onto his knees. He had been petrified in that half-crouched position beside the boy during that whole ordeal. He had almost wet himself. It was humiliating to say the least. He had never been so terrified and what was that purple light from Ivan's pipe?

Already it was fading in his mind like he hadn't seen that at all. His head hurt a little and then there was Matthew. His dear sweet boy was chasing after his death.

Even stranger had been the look in the boy's eyes and flecks of gold that had appeared in those violet iris. _What was that?_ Francis couldn't help but ask. The boy had radiated an almost crushing power. Something Francis had never believed possible for Mattie. He couldn't help but admire how sexy the boy had looked. He _was_ Francis.

At those last words, it had not been a fear of Ivan that kept Francis motionless, but of his precious Mattie. Now he sat here, Peter saying things about how Gilbert was going to be all right and that Francis needed to get the guards.

For once, Peter was right, but that wasn't all Francis needed to do. _I must be crazy_, he thought. He rose to his feet and ran after _his_ Prince, blade drawn.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

END OF CHAPTER 27. The chapter was broken in half. The next one will be short and show Ivan's perspective on things. It will also end on a cliffhanger. I hope you enjoy what happens in **Chapter 28: Made a Fool Of -Part 2**


	28. Chapter 28: Made A Fool Of pt 2

**Chapter 28**

**Made A Fool of (part 2)**

(I took out a LOT of stuff that was repetitive and the chapter became super... tiny. Sorry. Guess I shouldn't have broken it up after all. First time that's happened. Enjoy anyway!)

There was much to do, but first he had to get _his_ Alfred to safety. He smoothed the boy's hair with his thumb, brushing out the last of Winter's frost. Keeping a brisk pace, he hugged the boy closer like he were a log that Ivan was clinging to in a raging sea. The boy's face was luminescent in the moonlight and so handsome.

_This is all their fault_, he thought, squeezing the cold metal of his pipe, a shiver of Winter's power flowed into his arms washing away his weariness. _Just a little longer_, he told himself. Alfred stirred, but did not wake.

The vile nobility had put his Sunflower up to this. Odorless, colorless, and tasteless, they had really outdone themselves with their choice of sleeping potion. A rare concoction indeed that could make even an Eternal, such as Winter, doze. But what they hadn't realized was it only took a whiff for Winter to detect it.

While Winter was clearly not the target, the very suspicion that he was, was the reason he had allowed Ivan such free reign of his power tonight. Normally any personal use of Winter's power came with a price.

When the boy had turned away, Ivan had dumped out his vodka from that laced shot into a rag in his pocket and pretended to swallow. The boy had fallen for it. After that it had just been a matter of marking the boy and convincing him Ivan had drunk it. Though he knew how to play dead well, the boy's kissing and poking had tested Ivan a lot, especially his member.

Following his mark on the boy, he had discovered the passage and used Winter's magic to open it. Some sound had escaped before Winter's power could muffle it, but he was spared discovery thanks to, of all things, a rat.

It was during that conversation when he heard the way they spoke to his Sunflower that he realized the true victim in all this was none other than _his_ Alfred. The vile words of Prince Matthew had sickened him the most.

Who was that man to speak to anyone that way? That creature had thrown another in his place like a coward. Ivan scowled at the thought. Subjugation was for the nobility only.

Like snakes they had found away to put a peasant in their place. Ivan was only so grateful he had caught onto some of it and been gentle on the boy for his first time. However, he had still forced himself on the wrong person.

If he had not lost his temper at the Prussian scum touching his pet like that, he would have crept back up and waited until Alfred was alone to capture him and then waited for the real Matthew to come to him in the West Wing. The real game would have begun then.

_Never mind that now_, he thought. One thing was certain: none of them would get away with making a fool of Ivan.

For now he, with the exception of these two nations, would continue biding his time, waiting for the day when he destroyed the nobility. That class of worms that hoarded all the power and wealth. Ivan would only keep his own power so that he could enforce a fairer world order. One where people were governed by total equality. Equality of suffering, of reward. It would be gorgeous.

All but _his_ pure Alfred would live under it. The boy he would always shelter from this filthy world. _Yes_, he thought, gazing in adoration at his Sunflower, _you I will protect forever._

Lost in his thoughts, he never heard the footsteps charging at him. Even if he had been listening, he still wouldn't have heard them. The boy was like a ghost. Only a rush of air behind his back gave him any warning.

He turned around, a hand yanked down his scarf, dragging him into a fist that sent him sprawling backwards several feet, sliding across the floor. His jaw flared with pain.

Ivan tasted iron in his mouth and two of his bottom front teeth were loose, but he hardly noticed. His eyes fixed on Alfred who he had dropped and now lay a the feet of the Canadian Lord like a prize.

The Prince's long coat was shimmering an ivory-color in the moonlight and his face held a determined fury. A strange vibe like nothing Ivan had ever felt before was emanating from the boy. A power.

Gripping his pipe, Ivan rose to his feet, towering higher than the weakling Prince, blood spilling over his chin as he grinned. Murder in his eyes.

"You...," he gurgled through the blood. Before he had only wanted to maim the Prince, now he wanted to kill him in the most excruciating way possible, "...are dead."

"Maple," Matthew replied, drawing his silvery sword. Ivan blinked. _What did he say?_ He wondered, _no matter_. He raised his pipe. Violet met violet.

(END OF CHAPTER 28. Matthew has made a stand, but will he survive against Ivan? And what of this strange power bubbling out of the normally shy and meek Matthew? Things turn shocking in **Chapter 29: The Power Within**)

(Wow, this chapter was originally much longer but after I looked over it, I realized how repetitive it was and hacked it down. After I finished _editing_ it, it became rather tiny... so oops. *bows in apology*)

**Q & A:**

**Why didn't Matthew just stab him with the sword instead of punching him?**

We'll get to that later, my lovelies. There's a reason.

**How can Ivan and Alfred still be possible after all this?**

Wait and see. ;)

**So is Matthew like Superman or something?**

Hell no. He's going super saiyan... j/k :P As for what's going on, it was lightly hinted at way back. It has mostly to do with the bond between the twins, but I won't spoil it. *lips are sealed*

**Quiz: **

**Why are you updating so much?**

** a) ** No life

** b) ** Enjoys writing this story

** c) **It's winter

And the answer is...

c! Well I don't know what counts as having "a life", I think I do fairly well. I work, I hang with my friends, and I have my multiple hobbies.

And while I do enjoy writing this a lot, I have to say the biggest thing driving me to write has gotta be the icy winds outside.

Me; *opens door. Swirls in snow and icy winds. Shuts door* Oh hell no!

*Goes back and huddles by heater, furiously writing*

Friends' text : Hey where have you been? Let's hang out!

My reply: Nah, I can't. I'm hibernating. Text me again in the Spring.

Friends' text: But...but!

Me: HIIIIBEEEERRRRNAATTING!

And thus you now know my main motivation. I hate winter! Stupid General Winter! *shakes fist*


	29. Chapter 29: The Power Within

**Chapter 29: The Power Within**

(Fight scenes are hell to write. *sniffles* I'm sorry guys. This scene broke me. I think I failed, but onward and upward.)

Sweat stung Matthew's eyes. He blinked. A big mistake because Ivan took advantage of his distraction, charging at him, the Russian swung the pipe downward at his head. Dodging, the pipe missed him by inched, scraping down the wall, it trailed sparks.

Stumbling out of Ivan's reach, he retreated to the other side of Alfred, sword held in front of him like a shield. Ivan growled in frustration, rounding on him.

"Coming after me alone. Rather stupid of you, da?" Ivan spat as they circled a lightly-snoring Alfred.

_Like I need you to tell me that_, Matthew thought. There was a lot he should have done different like stabbing Ivan instead of punching him. Though he was amazed his fist didn't hurt at all.

"Stop hiding behind my Sunflower!" Ivan snapped as he stepped near the sprawled-out Alfred's thigh and Matthew went behind the top of the boy's head. Alfred was the only thing preventing Ivan from using magic. Once Matthew had grasped that he had done everything in his power to keep his brother between the two. He was fighting dirty, but as Gilbert once put it, _would you rather be dead?_ "Coward!" Ivan snarled.

"Funny coming from a guy who hides behind sorcery!" Matthew retorted.

Ivan halted, his smile dropping off. Goosebumps broke out across Matthew's skin. The air thickened and gelled, turning to ice. Shadows swallowed Ivan's face, veiling all but his lips as a cold, cruel voice, not entirely Ivan's, asked, "You remember?"

Matthew shuddered, confused and alarmed. _Remember what?_ His mind scrambled for an answer. "The magic?" He blurted out.

"What are you?" _Ivan_ inquired. Malicious eyes roved over Matthew and he shivered under their scrutiny. A smirk ghosted those pale lips and the voice chuckled, "I see."

Matthew's grip tightened painfully around the steel handle of his blade. _See what?_ His mind screamed.

Suddenly, everything was as before. Ivan was back with his disturbing grin, a sight Matthew never thought he'd be grateful for.

"Da, you are one to talk," Ivan continued as if nothing had occurred, "That punch had spell craft written all over it."

"B-but that wasn't magic!" Matthew insisted, still shaken by the previous encounter.

"Are you sure?" Ivan giggled, licking some of the blood off his split lip. "It tastes like it."

The scuffle of boots and sight of lanterns at the end of the corridor interrupted them. At the head of the guards was Francis who yelled, "Mon Cher!"

"Francis!" Matthew cried, tensing when Ivan leapt at him, across Alfred, swinging the pipe in diagonal arc at Matthew's neck. He threw up his sword, deflecting the blow, but the force of the attack, shoved him backwards onto the stone, his sword flew out of his hand, sliding several feet away.

_Maple!_ He yelped mentally, a shadow above him. Ivan raised the pipe, but didn't strike, twisting sideways. Francis's rapier stabbed the air where Ivan's torso had just been. Matthew saw Ivan's grin and leapt for his feet, power surging through him.

_Maple no!_ He thought as Ivan swung the pipe backhanded at Francis' face. Matthew threw out his hand.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Francis saw it coming. He shut his eyes not wanting to see the blow smash in his beautiful face. He waited and waited. Puzzled, he opened one eye, then the other, his jaw dropping at what he saw.

First of all, Mattiew looked drop-dead gorgeous. Secondly, he had caught Ivan's pipe one handed and was holding it back. It was quivering in his grip as Ivan struggled to wrench it free.

Gaining some sense, Francis scrambled back.

"You!" Ivan shouted, his smile gone. "Let go!"

"No!" Matthew snapped. _His voice_, Francis thought, curious at how different it sounded. Deeper, fiercer, and audible. _Is this really Mon Cher?_ He wondered. "I'm sick of you hurting people!" Pieces of it were still his Mattie. Francis silently cursed the lack of lighting, wishing he could see his Mattie's eyes. Ivan's face was a mask of shock and fury.

"You dare order me!" Ivan barked.

"I do!" Mattie declared, "And I also order you to get the _hell_ out of my kingdom. _Tonight_!"

"And if I refuse?" Ivan growled, his smile returning as he grabbed the pipe with both hands, but Mattie held it firm.

_How is he doing that?_ Francis wondered, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Try it! You're not in Russia! We have the advantage," Mattie replied. Ivan let go, slamming a fist at Mattie, but Mattiew caught it in his palm. Francis' eye bulged.

Ivan looked as stunned, his face turning a shade of red from rage and exertion. "You!" he said in a strangled voice. Mattie squeezed Ivan's fist and the Russian sucked in a breathe. Bones crunched and Ivan sank to one knee, his face painted with fury, pain, and maybe even fear.

Francis' mouth moved, but he couldn't find word. He couldn't even move, the air felt thick like water. The pressure around Mattie kept him paralyzed. _This is not Mattie_, he realized. It couldn't be. That voice. That aura. This was something else. Friend or foe, he didn't know.

"What are you?" Ivan roared.

"Something," _Mattie_, or whatever stood in his place, began, "You _will_ never understand. Now leave this land while you can."

Their eyes locked. Ivan broke his gaze first, glaring at his pipe. He stared at like a traitor, "Bastard, why?" he cried out. _He's angry at the pipe?_ Francis pondered, perplexed. His head ached and the thought skittered away.

"No," Ivan moaned, shaking his head, "I will not! I WILL NOT!" He screamed. Francis flinched, thinking, _he really is insane. Why's he screaming at his pipe?_ Ivan slumped in defeat and Mattie released his fist and the pipe.

"Be gone by tonight," _Mattie_ warned, staring down at Ivan. The guards, dressed in white breastplates with red maple leafs on the front came forward, spears and swords at ready. "Escort him to his people and assemble a battalion to see them gone by dawn," Mattie ordered his men.

They hesitated until he snapped, "Now!"

"R-right! Yes sir," one of them said and they pointed their spears at the defeated Ivan who stood up, his eyes remaining fixed on Alfred as he was led away. Before rounding a corner with six guards around him, he glared a Mattie. Francis shivered.

_We should kill him_, he thought, _he's already threatened our lands_. _What do we have to lose?_ But then he remembered what happened when Iceland tried that game.

Now that the lantern light was at a better angle, Francis could see him better, but his expression was unreadable. "Mon cher?" he whispered, unsure of who was there.

"F-francis?" squeaked a small voice. He sighed, relieved to see his Mattie was back. "W-what happened?"

"You defeated that Russian brute," Francis said, touching the boy's shoulder.

Mattie held up his palms, staring at the blood in his left hand were he had crushed Ivan's fist. "I-I did?"

He was now very concerned. "Take that boy to the East Wing for treatment," he ordered the remaining soldiers, gesturing at Alfred. They quickly did so, pausing for their lord, but Francis waved them away. Mattie was in no state to give orders. "Are you okay?" he asked, passing into French. "Do you remember?"

"I do," Mattie answered, flexing his fingers, "But it... I didn't feel like myself through parts of it." His face was in such anguish. "I'm so scared. What am I?" he asked, tears welling in his eyes as he faced Francis. "Am I a monster?"

Francis embraced him, rubbing his back, he replied, "No. Never."

Mattie sobbed against his shoulder, trembling. _Don't cop a feel, don't cop a feel_, he repeated in his head, his hands twitching to grab the boy's butt cheeks. "I feel," Matthew started. Francis heart sped up. _Is this it?_ He wondered, hoping his Mattie would finally confess, "sick."

"Oh," Francis sighed. Mattie collapsed against him. "Mon Cher?" he cried, easing the unconscious boy onto the floor, putting his head in his lap. "Mon Cher, relax. I have you now," he said, petting the boy's soft hair. He smiled, his eyes going south on the boy.

_ I will not... oh who am I kidding_, he thought and copped a feel.

(**End of Chapter 29. **Alfred wakes up to find he has been saved by... Canada? Revelations are revealed to Alfred as outside snowflakes begins to fall in what looks to be a very long winter for the pancake-loving kingdom. Can anyone save it from General Winter's curse? Sounds like the work for a hero! Decisions are made in... **Chapter 30: Thought of You** **)**

(Action scene... fail. Yeah that did not flow fast. but I'm glad I challenged myself to write one. Gotta learn to write them somehow. Hopefully future ones will work better. I've always heard and I do believe that actions scenes are one of the most challenging things to write. I believe it.)


	30. Chapter 30:  Thought of You

** Chapter 30: Thought of You **

(Realizing I can't get the motivation to finish the wrap-up if I write full chapter chunks, I'm throwing out crumbs. That way I'll get it finished even if it's slower.)

The deepest depths of despair was cheerful in comparison to the gloom that hung over Alfred and Gilbert. They had just been informed an hour ago by Francis of what had happened. Alfred had sat there silent and numb on his bed while Gilbert, in another bed besides his, lay there. Gilbert's head was wrapped in bandages, bits of white hair sticking out in places. He had an arm in a sling.

Alfred was not as badly injured, but still a little stiff from Ivan's assault.

Both had been speechless. The only sound in the room had been the occasional peep of Gilbird who was perched on the bed board of Gilbert's bed.

It was Gilbert who broke the silence first, stating, "This sucks."

"Yeah," Alfred swallowed, devastated. "It's a catastrophe."

"My moment of awesome...," Gilbert trailed off.

"Saved by that Canadian Prince," Alfred said, clutching at his temples, he wailed, "How could this happen? He's _my_ back-up!"

"You ungrateful shit," Gilbert accused, glaring at him.

"But you don't get it! I was _supposed_ to save him! I'm the hero!" Alfred cried, pointing at himself with both forefingers. He threw up his hands again, yelling, "This is hell! Saved by that sniveling, cowardly wimp of a wimp!"

"Alfred," Gilbert warned, "There is an old Canadian proverb I'd like to share with you. _Don't make me burn down your white house_."

"Huh? What the hell does that mean?" Alfred asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It means, _Go fuck yourself_," Gilbert retorted.

Alfred just looked confused. "I still don't get it. How does a whi-."

"Just go with it!" Gilbert snapped, scowling at the foot of his bed. "I'm having a bad enough day as it is! I can't believe that Russian ass surprised me like that. Robbed me of my awesome moment! I could... I could...," he said, grinding his teeth together, "I could cough up blood right now!"

"Yeah, well at least he didn't carry you in his _arms_ like some damsel," Alfred pointed out.

Gilbert nodded, agreeing, "Good point."

"I need a drink," Alfred muttered. "Something strong, but not vodka!"

"I second that."

"If only someone or something could bring us some whiskey," Alfred said, eyeing Gilbird who would fly up out of sight on the canopy of Gilbert's bed whenever someone entered the room.

Grasping what Alfred was digging at, he stated, "No!"

"But... but!" Alfred protested.

"Absolutely not!" Gilbert said. "He cannot carry a bottle of whiskey!"

"But how do you know? Has he tried?" Alfred pleaded. "It's an emergency!"

"Dammit," Gilbert muttered under his breath. "Why are we room mates again? Who's dumbass idea was this?"

"Probably that frog's."

"Figures," Gilbert grumbled, reaching between his mattresses he pulled out a silver flask. "I had one of my awesome men sneak this too me earlier. Keep your mouth shut about!"

"Lips are sealed," Alfred said, licking his lips. "What is it?"

"Stuff that'll make your day better?" he said, tossing it to Alfred who caught it, uncapped it and chugged back a gulp, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

"God, I needed that. Did I mention how awesome you are?" Alfred said, capping it and chucking it back. Gilbert took a swig himself before hiding it once more.

"You could stand to say it more."

"You know, if you think about it we were the ones who motivated the Prince," Alfred noted, "So in a way..."

"We _saved_ the day! Gilbert chimed in, his face lighting up.

"_Exactly!_ So we're the heroes in all this! Hi five for heroic _awesomeness_!" Alfred beamed, holding out his hand across the gap between their beds. Gilbert held out his, but they could only touch the tip of their forefingers.

"What are you morons doing?" Francis griped. He was leaned against the doorway with his arms across.

"Being awesome," Gilbert retorted, adding before Francis could reply, "How's his Majesty?"

"Better," Francis answered. "He's still in shock over what happened, but he is recovering."

"Did he really punch out Ivan?" Alfred asked.

"You have asked that already. Several times in fact," Francis said. "For the last time, _oui_."

Alfred groaned, throwing his head back against the pillow, bemoaning, "The event of a lifetime and I missed it! Why God, why?"

Ignoring the American's pout, Francis said, "Monsieur, I came to ask a favor."

"Of me?" Alfred asked skeptically, pointing at himself.

"Oui," Francis nodded. "I want you to visit your brother."

Alfred fell into a thoughtful silence.

(END OF CHAPTER 31. Okay so I thought if I can't motivate myself to write the full chapters for this. I can do it for little chunks. So sorry if they are a little short for Part One, but atleast it's getting done. Next up **Chapter 32: Though of You Part Two**)


	31. Chapter 31  Thought of You Pt 2

**Chapter 31**

**Thought of You Part Two**

Gilbert and his room had one window and its sill was big enough for Alfred to sit. So he did, one leg folded to his chest and the other hanging down just barely resting on the floor. The shutters were open, a cold wind planting numbing kisses on his face, but he ignored it, staring out across _Toronto_ to the Blue Atlantic Mountains. The skies overhead were dark grey.

"GODDAMIT ALFRED!" Gilbert snapped, again interrupting his reverie. "SHUT THE FUCKING WINDOW! IT'S FUCKING COLD AND WE'RE ALL FUCKING FREEZING!"

"In a minute," Alfred persisted, not looking at the Prussian.

"YOU SAID THAT TEN FUCKING MINUTES AGO! SHUT IT NOW! GILBIRD IS SHIVERING!"

_Like I care about that bird_, Alfred said, finally turning around, he opened a mouth but halted when a vase of flowers crashed into the wall a foot away. "Geez," he cried, eyes wide. Gilbert was sitting up in his bed, his hand reaching for the other brown vase on their bedside table, droplets of sweat covered his brow. Gilbert was still feverish. "Okay, okay, I get it," Alfred said, reaching out to shut it, he paused, a cold wetness landed on his forearm.

Holding up his palm, a big snowflake fell on it, he pulled it in and studied it.

"They're falling," he said grimly. Gilbert's face grew serious.

"That bastard didn't wait long," He said as Alfred shut the wooden window doors and slipped the bar in place. "I can't believe his majesty just let him go. We should have kill him while we had the chance."

"Could he?" Alfred asked, remaining on the sill.

"What do mean? Why couldn't he? Ivan may be many things, but he's still mortal like the rest of us, isn't he?" Gilbert said, frowning at Alfred's expression. "He is! And we have a better chance of getting rid of him here than when he's back in Russia. Geez, what is with your face? It's pissing me off. Tell me you don't actually like that freak!"

"What?" Alfred blinked, making himself grin reassuringly, "Of course not! He's a psycho and a bastard. As if, I would. I'm just worried about Canada," he said, which wasn't entirely a lie. Gilbert nodded.

"Damn it all to hell!" He snapped, slamming a fist on the bed. "This is all fucked up!"

"Yeah," Alfred agreed, his mind going elsewhere as Gilbert continued cussing and ranting.

_"I want you to visit your brother," Francis said._

_After a thoughtful pause, Alfred replied, "I'll think about it."_

_"Monsieur, if you are angry at Mon Cher, then don't be. He o-"_

_"I said," Alfred cut over in a calm voice, adding, "I'll think about it."_

_The Frenchman stared at him and then turned, saying over his shoulder, "Don't take too long."_

Alfred hated all this thinking, he preferred verbally batting his ideas around with someone, but his only option was Gilbert and like hell would he.

Again Ivan entered his thoughts and he shoved him out, his heart feeling strangely hollow. Once more his gaze went toward the window and what lay beyond it. Curious if Ivan was out there.

_Why can't I forget him?_ He wondered.

(END OF CHAPTER 31. Another short blip. I hope my readers aren't tiring of this story. I know it's kinda long. Next is **Chapter 32: Thought of You Part 3)**


	32. Chapter 32:  Thought of You Pt 3

**Chapter 32**

**Thought of You Part 3**

(This finishes this chapter.)

Ivan glared at Ottowa, wondering if Alfred was gazing his way.

_Probably not_, he thought bitterly. Up above, the dark veil of the night sky was being pulled back by the coming dawn. Ivan rarely spared the sky his eyes, but right now they were a comfort. Ahead, above the Atlantic Mountains dark clouds were brooding and growing.

_He has already begun_, he thought, tightening his grip on the reins of his large, black steed, Iron Curtain. Behind him marched his proud men, a hundred strong, and beyond them trailed at least three hundred Mounties. The gap between them and the Mounties was growing fast. Ivan's smile grew, knowing they would outpace the Mounties rapidly now that he had activated his Traveling Orbs.

Still, it did little to cool his fury. He could wait no longer. As much as he despised speaking to General Winter in his head, he wanted answers _now._ Reaching under his coat, he clenched a gloved hand around the pipe, directing his thoughts into it. _Why?_ he demanded. The pipe chilled in his grasp.

_What?_ General Winter demanded in a voice of pure malice. Iciness crept up Ivan's arm and settled at the back of his skull. That disturbing presence made him repulsed.

_Why did you make me retreat?_ Ivan clarified.

_He was dangerous._

Ivan bit back a snicker, snarling in his head, _he was nothing. _

No, Winter replied, _He could have killed you. _

Ivan was surprised at this, _Is that concern I hear? How touching._

_You're useless to me dead,_ Winter retorted.

_You admit that boy is stronger than you? Interesting_, he noted.

_Not stronger than I,_ Winter stated coldly, _Not if I have my full power, but a battle would have been risky._

_Why? _Ivan asked intrigued now. _You make it sound as if he's not human._

_He's not. At least not what's inside him. Not entirely_, Winter sounded almost confused. It was well-masked, but Ivan had known him long enough to pick up on even that subtle inflection.

_Hmmm_, he hummed in his head, just to annoy Winter, _What do you mean? Are you saying he has an Eternal like yourself in him?_

_Not like me, but quite powerful. If only I weren't sealed_, Winter mulled, his voice dripping with an undertone of deep rage.

_Why is a being like that hiding in the Canadian Brat? Is it like you and I?_ He inquired.

_No. It has hidden itself well, until tonight I never noticed it before in the boy. It only revealed itself to protect him. _

He knew what bothered Winter. Winter never protected anyone unless he had something to gain, but it wasn't obvious what this Thing had gained by doing so now. _I think it was protecting more than just the Canadian_, Ivan concluded.

_Yes, I agree_. _When we have them both, I will personally examine the Canadian_, Winter stated and Ivan could almost feel bad for the boy, almost.

_Now you are interested in him. I was going to torture him, but your attention will be worse_. _What makes you so sure we will get both?_ He wondered, still sore over the loss of his Sunflower.

_The Canadian Lord is weak at heart. Like a fool, he cares too much for this kingdom. He will not be able to watch their suffering long before he begs for your forgiveness. _Ivan could hear the cruel joy in Winter's voice. His own smile grew.

_Then you have begun?_

_Yes, just look to the Mountains. I am already sending the snows_, he said. Ivan gazed toward them. A thick blanket of grey clouds were oozing outward toward Canada already. _Soon the Canadian and the American will be ours_.

_Good_, Ivan said and the link severed between them, Winter returning to the pipe. He let go, rubbing his hand. It tingled, blood rushing back in it. He didn't care about the Canadian as long as the boy suffered. All Ivan wanted was Alfred. His beautiful Sunflower.

Winter could have the world as long Ivan had what he wanted. He didn't even know why he wanted him so much. It was as if the boy reminded him of something. _Something long ago_, he thought, shaking the silly idea from his head. The more he brooded, the more he realized that boy had almost cast a spell on him. While with him, he had been in an almost constant fog of pleasure and happiness.

_Like heaven_, his head said and he banished that idea too. Yet now that he was away from the boy, he was himself again. The Ivan from before he met Alfred. Like a man who had been chained in a cave all his life, Alfred had been like his first glimpse of the sky and outside world, now going back to his old self, his cave, made everything so much darker and lonelier.

He needed him. He touched his chest, the lingering warmth of Alfred was there as well as in his heart. Ivan spared a look at the Mounties. They were desperately trying to keep up, but they were being outpaced. With four activated Traveling Orbs, Ivan and his elite guards were putting leagues between them. Within a few more minutes, the Mounties and Ottawa would be out of sight.

He touched his chest, feeling the lingering warmth of his memory of Alfred and stared on final time to the horizon as the last of Ottawa disappeared. That was the beauty of the Traveling Orbs, they folded distance. The travelers using them would feel none of it, but there would be a feeling of things sliding by faster than normal. Few Lords had one, Ivan had four so he could move a hundred soldiers. He had collected them from some of his Subjugated. He wanted more.

_One day_, he thought, more than the Traveling Orbs in his head. Iron Curtain continued forward, Ivan's beige scarf dangling in the breeze behind him. His lips stretched in a grin that many swore could curl milk. Off in the east, the sun was piercing the horizon and up ahead a wall of winter was inching toward Canada. It would be _gentle_ for Ivan and his men when they passed through it, but not for Canada or France. Never for them.

...

(One reviewer said they don't understand why I am splitting the two up. A fair question. It's because "The Canadian and the American" will actually conclude. It will wrap up its plot point. "The Lord of Winter" is a different story. They are connected to each other and one leads into the other, but they are different stories.

While Part One was about two brothers and their switch.

Part Two is about the Lord of Winter. I can't say more without spoiling, but it is a different tale.

Sorry if that doesn't satisfy. Matt still has a big part in story after Part One but it comes much, much later when he does something HUGE that puts his very soul to the test and reveals what caused everything to go wrong in their world. )

(END OF CHAPTER 32. Okay Ivan exits the story. You can see him again in the first chapter of "The Lord of Winter". Up next, two brothers meet again, not sure what to make of the other. **Chapter 33: Brotherly Bonding.**)


	33. Chapter 33: Brotherly Bonding

**Chapter 33**

**Brotherly Bonding**

(By God, I did it. I completed a whole chapter in one go! *Victory dance* It may be rushed in places and stilted. Not my finest work, but by gosh it's done. *cackles madly* Made for your pleasure.)

"Mon cher," Francis said, his voice lined with revulsion, "I demand a reason for this...this atrocity!" he spat. He was sitting in an oak chair by Matthew's bedside, gazing fiercely at him.

Matthew sighed, keeping his eyes fixed on his hands. They were resting on his lap, hidden from sight underneath a worn quilt and thick bedding. "What do you want me to say?" He asked. Francis stifled a sob and pulled out his lacy handkerchief. "It just happened. It's not a big deal!"

"Just happened? Not a big deal?" Francis repeated, his voice cracking. He dabbed under his eyes with his handkerchief, biting at his lips, he glared at Matthew. "I expected better of you. But you...you...your a Prince of Canada for God's sake!"

Matthew rolled his eyes and threw up his hands, in a defeated tone, he said, "Fine! I'll have it removed," He yanked the quilt off. "There. Better?"

"And see that it's burned!" Francis added, staring daggers at the offending thing.

"Don't you think that's a little much?"

"Little much? Little much?" Francis cried shrilly, shooting to his feet, he stabbed a finger at it, shaking hysterically, "That _thing_ is an abomination! It needs to be tossed into the fires of hell! Just look at it! That hideous patchwork of other cloths!" his voice rose in tenor. "No silk! No lace! I mean my God what were you thinking letting that monstrosity of fashion be laid over your magnificent figure!"

"Look a servant was being kind and jus-."

"A servant?" Francis gasped, falling back onto his chair, he aired himself with his hand, "You accepted that beastly thing from a servant? No wonder its...so...so tasteless! A vomited glop of poor decorum. Just look at the way it drains your beautiful eyes. No, no, this will not do. Destroy it at once!" He ordered, twirling his finger in a _hurry up_ gesture.

"Okay, you are being a little dramatic, Francis."

"Am I? Am I?" Francis huffed, "I am protecting your sense of fashion from being brutally murdered and violated by that _vile_ incarnation of loathsome fabric!" he spat, all but cackling, a mad gleam alive in his eyes, "Be careful mon cher! If you let its evil into your heart you will soon find yourself dressing like...like that American!"

"Francis!"

"Only the most cruel o-"

"Francis!" he snapped, trying to be audible. Something in his tone finally reached the man who turned to him. "Don't you think we have more pressing matters to discuss? You've made your point about the quilt very clear. I'll have it gone within the hour. Now shouldn't we talk about Ivan?"

"Very well," Francis agreed, sniffing. He spared the quilt one final glare, turning up his nose in distaste. Matthew sighed and dropped it on the floor, out of Francis' vision. Francis relaxed, continuing, "Well, on the matter of Ivan, you know my opinion. I believe it was a mistake letting him leave."

"We didn't have much choice," Matthew answered somberly.

"But we outnumber him here and with that power of yours! Better here than when he's safe in Russia!"

"Believe it or not, it wouldn't have worked," Matthew held up a hand as Francis opened his mouth to interrupt, "No, we couldn't have. I can't explain how I know it, but if I tried to do anything else but drive him off, things would have turned nasty. It's... a feeling."

"A feeling?" Francis repeated, skeptically, "So now you're ruling by feelings?"

"You're one to talk," He countered, "Being such a _logical_ ruler yourself."

"I'm glad you noticed," Francis sighed and Matthew's eyebrow twitched with annoyance, unable to discern if that he was being witty or serious.

"Mon cher, what was that power?" He asked gravely, "It was so different from your normal self."

"I don't know," he replied, his face falling. "All I know is that it felt like it wasn't mine, but someone else's. Like someone was with me, protecting me. I felt loved somehow."

Francis brightened at that, "Ah, I knew it was love. The power of love always triumphs over all." Matthew hit the back of his head lightly against the bed board. Frustrated that Francis wasn't getting it and that he couldn't explain it. "Ah, but enough about that. I believe you should consider a well-planned arrow when that man is far enough away," Francis suggested.

"First off all, don't talk about assassination so lightly," Matthew responded, "Second of all, tons of people have tried to kill him and never succeeded. Just look at Iceland's lord. Thirdly, it won't take him long to outpace my Mounties. I just know he's going to use his Traveling Orb."

"Orbs," Francis corrected.

"Orbs?" Matthew gasped, "How many?"

"Not sure, but at least three. My sources tell me he has Norway and Lithuania's. But I believe he had one before that."

"I should have known. His elite guard was made of at least a hundred so he probably has more like four," Matthew noted and Francis nodded, "Heaven help us he's trying to collect them."

"He wouldn't be the first to have tried. Prussia's Lord tried before him, but after their fall, the Germanic nations all lost theirs. Stolen by other lands," Francis explained and from the look in his eyes, Matthew suspected France had been one of those "pilfering" lands.

"Speaking of which, I have been curious. How come Ivan never got yours even after he Subjugated you?"

"I already told you why Subjugation didn't work on me," he responded, "But also, I am a cunning tactician," at Matthew's expression, he added, "when I want to be."

A thoughtful silence enveloped them. Matthew went deep into his thoughts, ignoring Francis' lewd gaze, remembering last night when he woke up here to Francis laying him down.

_Matthew lay there, staring at the ceiling, but not really seeing it. _

_ "Oh, mon cher," Francis said, hugging him tightly._

_ "They're going to die," Matthew sobbed, embracing Francis's back, he buried his face in the man's shoulder. "I've doomed them. Their blood is on my hand."_

_ "Shhh, mon cher. It's too early to say that. Canada can pull through this."_

_ "And what of France? What have I done to you?" Matthew sobbed, "My dearest friend. How could I be so stupid? Over a peasant."_

_ "He may be your brother."_

He is_, Matthew corrected in his head._

_ "But our kingdoms for him? I don't understand myself. I'm so useless as a leader. I don't deserve this position." Francis grip on him tightened and he began to caress Matthew's hair._

_ "Never say that again mon cher. That silly fool Arthur was right about you. I can hardly believe it, but he was right. You were born to lead Canada. You are worthy of your position and leave fretting about France to me," he said, rubbing Matthew's back who clutched tightly at the French Lord's coat. "It took a lot of courage to do what you did. You shined like I never thought possible. Do not ever regret what you did."_

_ Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was sheer exhaustion, but Matthew found himself incredibly drowsy. His mind started to drift away, but before it did, he felt Francis lay him down, so gently like he were holding something precious. Then the Frenchman kissed Matthew's forehead and whispered in his ear, "One day you will see your worth."_

_ Matthew never heard him shut the door as he left. _

_ "_Mon cher?" Francis repeated, waking him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Did you hear me just now?"

"Um...," he trailed off, not wanting to lie but not wanting to admit to daydreaming. Francis seemed to read his hesitation and sighed.

"I said I am leaving tonight. I have to go back to France."

Matthew's heart sped up, he had expected this, but so soon, he nodded, his throat locked with disappointment. "Please don't look so sad. I'll come back as soon as I can, but I have to warn my kingdom."

"I know," Matthew finally managed, but somehow the days without Francis around always felt so much longer. "It's whats best for your land."

"Don't worry about my land. We've already been through Russia's winter once. We're far better prepared this time," he said encouragingly. Matthew nodded. Francis moved from the chair to the bed, sidling closer until he took one of Matthew's hand with both of his. Matthew's cheeks pinked a little. "Perhaps I could stay a little longer," he said alluringly, "if there is something you would like to do."

_I...I..._ Matthew's brain went on overdrive, his heart pounding. Now was his chance, but his brain just wouldn't let one thing go. _What happens after?_ It asked. He knew the answer because he knew Francis so well. Francis didn't understand like Matthew did that it would damage their relationship. Not for Francis, but it would for Mattie because after they slept together he would have to watch Francis flirt with others. He would have to know he was just another lover. Someone Francis had conquered.

_I can't_, he snapped in his head, yanking his hand away, he met Francis' surprised, and somewhat hurt, gaze. "So I-I've been thinking about what Peter said," he stated, looking away, "About Merlin's Curse and Winter. I've been wondering why," he faltered a little and glanced over as Francis sat back on the chair, "that maybe we are seeing the situation with Ivan wrong."

"How so?" Francis asked, his voice a tad frigid.

"We see it as Ivan using Winter, but what if it's the opposite? What if Winter is _using_ Ivan?"

"You mean as in Winter's a thinking entity?" Francis asked skeptically.

"Well, why not?" Matthew questioned, "I keep thinking over that fight and the way he looked at that pipe and that purple magic."

"What purple magic?"

_Oh that's right_, he remembered. The others hadn't seen it, though he did wonder if Alfred had. He needed to talk to him, about that and so many things. He just couldn't bring himself to.

"Maybe," he began, facing Francis who was to his surprise brooding, "It's not that Ivan got a hold of an old magic, maybe it's that an old magic got a hold of Ivan."

"You mean like an Eternal?"

"Why is that so impossible?"

"They are but legends."

"Legends everyone agrees are true and yet don't! Why is it so hard to accept that maybe there is a curse and maybe the myths are true!" _Silly statement_, he thought, realizing the fallacy of his words.

Francis touched his head, his face scrunching in pain and Matthew understood they had to stop. "Never mind," he sighed, knowing it was useless. "It was just a silly idea."

"No it's not!" came another voice. Alfred opened the door, stepping into the room, he shut it behind him.

"How long were you listening?" Francis demanded.

"Long enough," Alfred answered, leaning against the door. His head clearly ached as well but he continued, "I think Matthew's right. I think Winter is more than just a force of nature. I think he's a thinking being."

Matthew felt happy to be agreed with, but Francis shook his head, still refusing the idea.

"It's not possible."

"Gilbert was telling me more about this Winter and Summer legend," Alfred said, "And it got me thinking that if one exists, why not the other? If there is a General Winter than where is Lady Summer?"

"That's a good question," Matthew agreed, still reluctant to face Alfred, his brother. Francis looked between them and stood up, yawning and stretching out his arms.

"I believe I should leave you two alone," he said, the hurt look never entirely leaving his face, he said, "You two _enjoy_ each other."

Matthew narrowed his eyes, but Alfred remained oblivious to the innuendo. As soon as Francis left and the door was shut, quiet filled the room. Alfred biting his cheek and studying the room as Matthew studied the wall by his bed. Really a fascinating wall.

"So um, I heard you saved me," Alfred said, breaking the silence first.

"Yes."

"I guess I should thank you," he sighed, rubbing the back of his head, "Would be the polite thing and all."

"If you want."

"But dammit, you were such an asshole before," he accused, pacing the room, "I mean what the hell? Why'd you do it?"

"I don't know," Matthew replied, frowning. "I just couldn't help myself. It's your fault!"

"How's it my fault?" Alfred asked, rounding on Matthew.

"Well," _You had one job, to get fucked by Ivan_, Matthew remembered his harsh words and closed his mouth, saying, "I... I mean that you should have been the hero." There he had massaged that idiot's ego. It worked like a charm, Alfred's features collapsed into embarrassment.

"You're right," he admitted, "I lamed out." _Is that even a word?_ Matthew wondered. "Shit... I mean shoot," he said, glancing at Matthew, "I'm just not used to thanking someone for saving me. This has never happened before! It's usually reversed. You must be used to it. Can you give me some pointers?"

Matthew was going to ignore that jab.

"Well, you don't have to say anything. I don't expect a thank you."

"No!" Alfred said, "That wouldn't be right! I was raised better than you. Though I hate admitting it you, kinda, sorta, saved me," he trailed off, biting his cheek. He took a big gulp and keeping his eyes locked on the ceiling said, "Here goes. Thank you for saving me." His voice dropped low at the last part.

"What? Did I heart something?" Matthew said, unable to resist teasing him after that earlier poke, he cupped a hand around his ear. "I'm sorry. One more time."

"Thank you," he said through gritted teeth. "I really appreciated what you did for me."

"I'm sorry," Matthew sighed, holding up a forefinger, "One more time."

"Don't push it," he warned. Matthew bit his lip to hide his smile.

"You're welcome," he said.

"So why'd you do it?" Alfred questioned. "I mean it makes no sense. You were a total jerk and then you took on Ivan? I mean was it worth it at the risk of your entire kingdom?"

"I don't know," Matthew answered, lifting his eyes to Alfred's, "But I do know that I would do it again." And that he knew, deep down, was true.

Alfred looked visibly touched and he relaxed, coming and sitting down at Matthew's bedside. "I guess you're all right after all, what's-his-face?" he clapped him on the shoulder.

Matthew winced. He was back to his normal strength and damn Alfred was strong.

"Ah, sorry," Alfred said.

"It's okay."

"So what do we do from here? I mean. I appreciate what you did and all, but I should probably head out soon. I mean we can be good friends and all, right?" He asked hopefully.

_Friends?_ Matthew thought. His hands clenched at the comforter and he swallowed hard, knowing what he had to do.

"Alfred, I need to tell you something. And I need you to just listen. Don't interrupt because well, this is a long tale," he began.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He finished near sundown, or what he thought was. Because of the overcast outside, it was getting dark early. The shadows were thickening in his room. Alfred just stared at him, blinking.

"Alfred?" He asked worriedly. He had told Alfred most of it, leaving out how they'd coerced Peter into talking about it and a few other details.

"Dude!" Alfred finally snapped, grabbing him by the shoulders, "This...is...the...MOST AWESOME NEWS EVER!" He grabbed Matthew in a bear hug.

"My spine!" he squeaked as Alfred released him and then hugged him again, then released him and hugged him again. He stopped, letting Matthew catch his breath. He leapt around the room.

"I can't believe it! I'm related to a Prince. How cool is that?" He chortled. "And a King? Duuuuuudddde. My siblings are gonna be so jealous!"

_He's taking it well_, Matthew thought wryly comparing their reactions.

"Alfred, Alfred!" he said several times, finally shouting, "Alfred!"

"What?" The American said, stopping.

"You can't tell anyone," he said.

"What about my Pa?" He said. "He's trustworthy! He's Pa!"

Matthew sighed, thinking _That's way down in the Americas so..._, "Fine, you can tell him, but not by letter."

"Aww, but I write so well," Alfred said, nodding, "Very well. But dude does that make me a prince too?"

_Here we go_, Matthew thought. "You want to be a Prince?"

To his surprise Alfred rubbed at his chin with his thumb and forefinger and answered, "Not really. I'm just curious if I _am_ one. Bragging rights and all, you know."

"Wait, you don't want to be a Prince?" Matthew clarified.

"I didn't say that," Alfred replied, "I just said I don't want have a Prince's responsibility. I mean locked up in a castle. Doing what paperwork? Hardly heroic. Nah, I wanna be out there, seeking adventure. Besides, I think the whole nobility stuff is crap."

"You can't say that!" Matthew said. "I mean I agree it's not a good system, but it keeps things working."

"Yeah, just like beating people up can get them working. Yet it leaves everyone unhappy. I want to be their leader because they chose me," he said, holding his palms up. "You know like elected me."

Matthew swallowed a snicker, "Elected? You mean a system where people elect their leaders."

"Yeah, what's so funny about that?" Alfred said defensively.

Matthew shook his head, _this American and his crazy ideas_, he thought, saying, "That would never work. It would be anarchy within a week."

"It could work."

"It would be lucky to last a year let alone _two _hundred," Matthew answered, "Just look at the Wild Lands after they threw out British rule. I hear of chaos all the time there. Are they better off without a monarchy?"

"They are! It's getting better!"

"Anyway," Matthew said, altering the subject, "I'm glad you are accepting all this so well. I was anxious about your reaction. I'm also surprised. You're acting like this is the first time you heard about us being brothers."

"I heard it earlier," Alfred admitted, "During...," his face soured, but his grin quickly returned, "But I had some doubts. I mean what are the chances? I was wondering if you just made it up at the time to get Ivan to let me go. It would be pretty clever of you, but after that story I know. But wait," he paused, becoming thoughtful, "Nah, I'll save my questions for later. Right now, I want to get to know my bro!"

He returned to the bed and threw his arms again around Matthew who relaxed into that embrace, resting his face against Alfred's shoulder. All his life something had been missing and now he knew what. He heard sniffling.

"There, there Alfred no need to cry," he said reassuringly.

"Uh, I'm not," he replied.

"But then...," he trailed off. They broke apart, eyes locking onto the now open door. Francis was leaned against its frame, dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief.

"Beautiful! Just beautiful!" he sniffed, clapping, "I am so touched. I shall write you," he declared, clearly pausing for dramatic tension, "A sonnet! No," he said, a twinkle growing in his eyes as he approached them.

"No," Matthew breathed, knowing what was coming.

"You need to bond as brothers...," he said, his lips curling up in a lewd grin.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After tossing Francis out and slamming the door shut, Alfred wedged a chair under the brass knob. "There," he said, wiping his hands, he returned to Matthew's bedside. "That should keep him out," he grinned at Matthew and shot him a thumbs up.

Matthew's eyes veered to the door and Alfred's joined him in alarm. It shook as Francis pawed at it. "Mon cher~!" the French Lord cried, "Be reasonable! Threesome's really do bring kin closer! I have helped many through such fragile times as yours!" The door shook harder as he mewled, that's right mewled, against the door, "Ah, please reconsider you don't know what you're missing!" Matthew swore he could hear the Frenchmen drooling, lost to his perverted fantasies.

"That's it!" Alfred snapped, standing up, "I'm beating his ass!"

"No!" Matthew squeaked, grabbing ahold of the back of his shirt, "Please don't! He'll tire!" Alfred sighed heavily and plopped back down. He stared flatly at Matthew as Francis continued begging and scratching at the door.

"Okay, I'll admit, he's never been so persistent," Matthew commented. The door rattled harder and Francis continued pleading.

"Think the chair will hold?" Alfred asked, smirking, he cracked his knuckles one by one. "Coz if it doesn't." There was a dreadful gleam in his eyes. To Matthew's relief, Francis finally gave up and slinked off, moaning in French about what cruel boys they were.

"Damn," Alfred muttered, leaning back on his arms, "What a freak!"

"He gets carried away, but he's a good guy!" Matthew said defensively, adding before he could stop himself, "Actually quite sweet."

Alfred arched an eyebrow at that and then grinned, saying in a smug tone, "Oh, I get it."

Matthew colored, blustering, "N-no! How d-dare you! Francis would...," he trailed off, figuring out the stupidity of those words. Francis so would. He changed tactics. "H-he and I n-never did that!"

"Hmmm, I see," Alfred said, "But you want him to."

Matthew turned crimson, huffing and finally he admitted, "Maybe." _Why am I confessing this to this nitwit brother of mine?_ But he knew why, he felt naturally close to the idiot somehow.

"Well, it's your business," Alfred shrugged, "But I gotta say, your taste is awful."

_Same could be said about you_, Matthew thought, but held his tongue, changing the topic, "So I suppose you must be tired." Thick clouds outside were making it darker faster. Night would come early. Already the shadows were growing thick in the room. Matthew didn't want to be alone, but it was better to get this over sooner rather than later.

"Actually," Alfred began, winking at Matthew, "I was wondering if his Majesty wouldn't mind some company tonight?"

"Y-you mean here? In my bed?" Matthew gasped. _Oh God, that will set Francis' fantasies flying_, his mind noted, but that only reminded him that Francis was departing tonight. They had already said their good-byes. It made him sad.

"I guess that's a no," Alfred said, disappointment evident, he stood up, but Matthew caught his wrist and tugged him back down.

"N-no. I mean yes. Please stay," he said shyly with a soft smile. "It would be great. We have so much lost time to catch up on."

Alfred beamed at him, ruffling his hair, "Yeah, we do!" he agreed.

Since Alfred already had on his wool pants and long-sleeved shirt that he slept in, there was no need for him to run back to his room. Or that's how he explained it to Matthew anyway. He hopped next to Mattie and burrowed under the covers.

Matthew's cheeks pinked, unused to sharing a bed. He had never in his entire life except for with his bear who was sleeping in his whicker basket bed under the bed right now. Like his owner, the bear was shy and liked the privacy of below.

_I could get used to this_, he thought, savoring the warm body next to him. There was nothing sensual about it, only comforting. Like something long-lost had been restored to him.

"It isn't weird?" Matthew asked, rolling over to face his brother. "S-sleeping next to me?"

"What? Nah!" Alfred laughed, "My siblings and I always shared a bed back at the farm. It's weird for me to sleep alone," he paused and sat up, clapping his hands together, "My gosh! You've got to meet them!"

"Who?"

"The folks!" He answered, "Oh they'll love you! Mama Jones is gonna be thrilled. It'll be great and just wait 'til you meet my bros and sisters!"

"Your family?" Matthew asked, propping his head up on a fist.

"Yup, that's it. The ones who taught me how to be my kick ass self!" He crowed, jabbing his thumb against his chest.

"I'd love to meet them some day," he agreed, his smile faltering as his mind wandered to grimmer things, "But right now...is...is..."

"Yeah," Alfred nodded, deflating, he flopped his head back on the pillow, slipping an arm around Matthew he pulled him into a hug, "Just got carried away. Sorry 'bout that. Now's not a time with all the stuff goin' on."

"But someday," Matthew said, adding in his thoughts, _if I get out of this alive_. "I would be honored to meet the ones who raised you. And Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"I would love you to meet the woman who raised me in France."

"Wasn't that Francis?"

Matthew frowned at the jab, continuing, "No, he was a Lord so he was busy a lot of the time. I was left to his very sweet and well-mannered cousin to be raised. But Francis, did visit me every birthday without fail no matter what was going on," Matthew quickly added.

"That was nice of him," Alfred mused, yawning.

"You know those are contagious," Matthew joked, yawning himself.

"Just like my smile," Alfred chimed, his eyelids drooping.

"Goodnight Alfred," Matthew said, blushing when Alfred's hand found his, interlocking their fingers.

"G'night Mattie," he yawned loudly. Mattie _tsked_ reaching up with free hand, he pulled off Alfred's glasses and placed them on his bed side table, before removing his own.

Sleep took him not long later. He had a good dream. Alfred and he were toddlers in white frocks. They were running, Alfred was ahead, pulling Matthew along behind him by the hand.

They were in a forest of plants so green they sparkled with an emerald glow. It was a place of mirth and dappled sunlight. Every now and again, Alfred would toss a grin over his shoulder at Mattie who would smile back. _Faster, faster_, Alfred urged. Mattie didn't know where they were heading, but he knew wherever it was, he wouldn't be alone. His other half was with him and that was all he needed.

At some point Matthew woke from this before dawn. Alfred was completely wrapped around him, snoring. It might have been endearing if not for the fact that Alfred had soaked half his pillow in drool. Perturbed at the wetness under his cheek, he scooted backwards until his cheek found a dry spot and then fell back asleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it was late morning and Alfred was gone. The shutters were cracked open, allowing in some grey light. Below the window sill, on the square table, was a plate with a half-eaten stack of pancakes. A note was tucked under it.

Crinkling his brow, he got up and put on his red slippers, shuffling over. He deciphered Alfred's chicken scratch:

_Brakefaust kaim. I tastaid yers far poesen. U kant bee two kairful!_

_ Luv yer bro,_

_ Alfred_

Matthew smiled and hugged the note. Oh, he would _definitely_ give his brother hell for touching _his_ pancakes, but for now he savored the warm glow in his chest.

(END OF CHAPTER 33. Woot! One more to go! Next up his Alfred's devious plan. **Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins!)**

(Okay the last one is the final chapter, but I'm gonna need some motivation here to get the final one out! Please motivate me guys so I can get Part One done!)


	34. Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins!  Pt 1

**Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins (Pt. 1)**

(We're going back to bit by bit, but when it's done! Part One will be finished. So get your fireworks and champagne bottles at ready coz here we go!)

Gilbert opened an eye and watched the American slip into the room and back into bed. It was just an hour past dawn. "No use in hiding it," Gilbert chimed. Alfred froze, halfway climbed into bed, staring at him.

"Shit, you're awake?"

"No, I just talk in my sleep," he retorted, sitting up.

"Sarcastic bastard," Alfred grumbled.

"Sarcastic _awesome_ bastard," Gilbert corrected, adding, "I'm impressed. You're fairly stealthy when you want to be, but there's no sneaking past the awesome me."

"Unless you're Russian."

"Fuck you!" He snapped, glaring at Alfred. "Just fuck you! He didn't surprise me!"

"Really? Could've fooled me," Alfred replied, smirking, he sat on the edge of his bed.

Gilbert's hands clenched into his fists, his jaw opened and closed several times. He sucked a deep breathe, calming himself before he sniped "So tell me, Alfred, is being a _helpless_ dumbass in distress a normal hero strategy?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes, snapping, "I wasn't helpless! I was _unconscious_!" Gilbert arched an eyebrow as even Alfred clearly realized the stupidity of what he'd just said. "What are we fighting about?" Alfred sighed.

"Meh," Gilbert shrugged, "Okay, where were you last night?"

"Prince Matthew's bed," He answered, adding, "Stop looking at me that way."

"Don't tell the frog," Gilbert grumbled, "His perverted fantasies are sick enough."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Is the Prince better?"

"Seems so. His pancakes are tastier than ours," Alfred ruminated, frowning a little. "Hardly fair. He gets his so early. Speaking of breakfast, has ours come yet?"

"You didn't," Gilbert stated.

"Didn't what?"

"Touch his Majesty's pancakes."

"I only tested them a little. It was for a good cause," Alfred defended.

"You're a dead-man walking, "Gilbert stated, "Gather your gear, if you start running now, you'll have a head start."

"Please, what's the worst he could do to me?"

"You'll see," Gilbert said, smirking, he added, "Or maybe he'll be ironic and have me fix one of my wonderful burgers for you." Alfred blanched and then understanding engulfed his features.

"You knew!" He accused, jabbing a finger at Gilbert, he jumped to his feet. "This whole time!"

"Of course, I knew," Gilbert agreed, smugly, "Nothing slips by the _awesome _me. Stop right there!" He said, holding up a forefinger as Alfred opened his mouth to smart-off. "Yes, I realized eventually that my awesome burgers were too much for your weak American stomach."

"Bastard!" Alfred grumbled, "Last time I try to spare your feelings!" Gilbert chuckled. "Where's my bag?" He demanded.

"What for?"

"I want my hunting knife!" Alfred said, looking around.

"Oh, it's still in his Majesty's secret room."

"And where's that?"

"It's a secret."

Alfred glared at him and stomped toward the door, but Gilbert called, "Stop right there! I wouldn't try leaving the East Wing if I were you. There are guards," Alfred rounded on him and Gilbert sighed, "Fine, I'll have your bag fetched later. But don't you pull out that knife. Even bed-ridden no one can kick my ass. And no smarting off!" He snapped as Alfred again opened his mouth to mention the Russian Pig.

"Agreed," Alfred nodded, adding, "And I'd like one more thing brought."

"Which is?"

"The chess board. From the West Wing," Alfred answered, not meeting Gilbert's eyes. Gilbert nodded.

"Fine."

"And... whiskey?"

"That we can agree on," Gilbert said, winking.

Alfred grinned back and then began looking around the room, searching for something. "Hey, have you seen a letter?" He said, drawing a rectangular shape in the air with his forefingers. "They were in my last pair of pants."

"A letter?"

"Yeah something with words written on it."

Gilbert's upper lip twitched a little, but he let it slide, replying, "I might have."

"Where is it?" Alfred asked, his eyes following Gilbert's to the night table between their two beds. "Oh, right in plain sight!" He laughed, going over he handed it to the Prussian, "This is for you. I wrote it days ago."

"For me? Really?" Gilbert said, a little touched. He took it out, his face freezing, "You wrote this?" He gaped, staring up in horror.

"Great, right?" Alfred grinned, giving another of those stupid thumbs-up. _It's horrible_, Gilbert thought.

"Never tell anyone I was your teacher," Gilbert asked.

"Oh," Alfred said, winking and nodding, "I get it."

"Get what?"

"You'd have people beating down your door to have you teach them if you they knew you'd taught me," Alfred laughed. Gilbert had a sudden desire to throttle the boy. He gripped his bedsheets instead.

"Yes, Al, that's exactly it. Your keen intellect is always incredible," He muttered.

"Just like your Prussian intellect," Alfred agreed. Gilbert frowned, wondering if that was a witty comeback or if the idiot was just clueless. He could never tell.

"So," Alfred said, clasping his hands together, "I've been thinking."

_Never a good thing_, Gilbert thought, but held back.

"About the situation and all. I've got an idea. You and the Prince will just love this."

_I doubt it_, Gilbert thought, but he listened anyway.

(END OF PART 1 Chapter 34. Okay next up is Part two of this chappy and maybe, just maybe, I can get through this. Either this has two more updates or one before "The Canadian and the American" is finished and I can concentrate better on "The Lord of Winter".)


	35. Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins! Pt 2

**Chapter 34 Pt. 2**

(This little snippet came to me! So I got another piece out! Yiiiipppppeeeee!)

"No," Matthew said, stunned.

He had had arrived, ready to ask American to do, what Francis had once described as "a fate worse than death". Other leaders might rely on whippings, beatings, or torture, but no Matthew like most Canadians, had a far more sinister way of dealing with those that crossed them.

It was called _hockey_.

Gilbert had once made the foolish mistake in thinking his awesome self would crush his shy, mild-mannered lord. Fifteen minutes into the match, he had been begging to be flogged rather than continue. He had also promised never to piss Matthew off again, wailing about the "hideous transformation" Matthew undergoes out on the rink.

As much as Matthew enjoyed the fear his "hockey persona" caused, he also longed to have a real rival. A non-Canadian rival. Realizing Alfred and he were kin, he had hoped that maybe Alfred _would_ share his love of the game. On top of his many other errands today, he had requested two hockey sticks and a puck be brought to his room. He had wanted to surprise Alfred.

He also wanted to ask if Alfred would like to stay in his room again and have Alfred's breakfast brought there tomorrow morning. Matthew was finding himself looking forward to the idea of having a twin. At last, someone to share things with. And, well, if Alfred didn't like hockey then it would be the perfect revenge for the earlier pancake thievery.

Yet just as he entered the room, opening his mouth to invite, Alfred had grabbed him into another crushing bear hug, squeezing the air out of him. "OH MY GOSH!" Alfred cried, "Thank goodness you came! I have to share the news!" He released Matthew who gasped for air. "I'm leaving!"

Matthew froze, his eyes widening. _What did he say?_ He thought, his heart speeding up. All thoughts of hockey and snuggling tonight flew out of his mind, replaced by one prominent thought: _No_.

"W-what?" He managed, glancing toward Gilbert who shook his head in a _Don't blame me_ expression. "What do you mean leaving?" He asked, thinking, _you can't leave._

"Just that! So listen bro," he said, clamping his hands on Matthew's shoulders, he beamed and explained, "I've been talking to Gilbert," Matthew's eyes flashed to Gilbert who held up his palms and shook his head innocently, "And that Yellowstone Woods place, well, it's only a few days from my family's home. I practically grew up near it. That can't be a coincidence, right? Also I really need to get back home and clear some stuff up. I kinda left suddenly and in disgrace," he admitted sheepishly, "So my going would be two birds with one stone if you catch my drift."

Mistaking Matthew's silence for confusion, Alfred elaborated, "I could you know _investigate_ that area for King Arthur _and_ catch up with the folks. What do you think? Great idea, huh?"

Matthew swallowed hard, a lump in his throat. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling. _What a fool I was, _he scolded himself, _thinking about playing hockey at a time like this. Alfred's just been planning to leave_. His hands curled into fists, he took a deep breathe, trying to fight back the waves of nausea rolling through him.

"Well?" Alfred urged, grinning brighter.

So many thoughts and feelings were rushing through Matthew, it was hard to concentrate. He hardly noticed his lips move and say the "No" from above, but they did and Alfred blinked.

"What?" Alfred said, his grin faltering a bit, "Did you sa-."

"No," Matthew repeated, gaining his voice. Alfred's hand fell away, his grin slipping off entirely. Matthew met his eyes with a determined gaze. _You can't leave, not with Francis gone, not after all I gave up for you_, he thought. Deep down, he knew, he needed Alfred. He couldn't face this alone. Snow was already falling outside and the kingdom was buckling down for a harsh winter.

"And why not?" Alfred demanded, frowning.

"Don't you think you're being impetuous?" Matthew said and seeing Alfred's puzzlement, clarified, "_Rash_, Alfred, rash. You've been subjugated for days. Who know what effect that had on you?"

"I'm fine," Alfred insisted, patting at himself for emphasis.

"And what about the fact that Ivan will be hunting for you. Do you really think it's a great idea for you to just wander off _alone_ on some crazy investigation?"

"It's not crazy," Alfred said defensively, "And he won't know I'm in the Wild Lands if we keep it discrete that I'm going."

"Alfred, it _is_ crazy," Matthew said, shaking his head, further adding, "And what makes you think that _you_ can find a man that _no one_ has found in nearly twenty years?" Matthew had never felt comfortable calling Arthur, father, and learning the truth had only made that discomfort worse.

Alfred's jaw became set and his tone grew stubborn, "What makes you think I can't? It was _outsiders_ searching. They don't know the area like we locals do. They could look for a hundred years and never find anything, but I've seen the Yellowstone Woods. I know why people avoid it. They say it's _haunted_. The idea of spooky specters has kept me away from it, but now I wonder. Maybe there is something there, something to do with me, with this Artie fellow. Something that could save Canada. Let me do this, Mattie. I can be the hero."

"No, you can't," Matthew declared, "You are not a hero, Alfred. Not of Canada, not of anyone. If you didn't notice, you weren't the one who saved anyone a couple days ago." A low blow, but he was desperate. Alfred's face grew hard and cold. Matthew felt a pang of regret.

"So," Alfred began, his tone bitter, "you're saying I can't leave? That I'm a _prisoner_ just like I was with Ivan."

"N-no," Matthew protested, his voice a little shaky, "That's not it at all. I'm just requesting that you wait and think this through. We need time to plan."

"The weather will be worse by then," Alfred argued. Matthew grimaced at the reminder. "I need to leave now while I still can."

"No, Alfred, I insist you wait," Matthew's tone was final as he added, "Do _not_ make me place guards on you." Alfred glared at him, but Matthew held his gaze, refusing to look away. He felt dizzy and ill. This isn't how he wanted this evening to go at all.

_I wanted to play hockey and snuggle_, he thought sadly, mourning what could not be now. _One happy evening with my brother_.

"Fine," Alfred muttered, turning his back to Matthew, "I will wait."

"A-Alfred," Matthew said, raising a hand, he paused, noticing Gilbert watching him, he lowered it. "Gilbert."

"Yes, you Majesty."

"Please watch over him tonight."

"Yes, your Majesty," Gilbert replied in a resigned tone, his face forlorn.

Matthew glanced one more time at Alfred's back, aching to be embraced by those comforting arms. Alfred was the only person to hug him in years. Not since he'd left France had anyone done so. Hugs with Francis always turned lewd so he avoided them, but with Alfred they were warm and soothing. A comforting addiction.

He swallowed again, his chest so constricted, he hated arguing. Leaving the room, he spared Alfred's back one final glance as he shut the door, thinking, _I'm sorry,_ _but I can't face this alone_.

(END OF PART TWO. Next update will be the last one. That will end the chapter and Part One of this storyline. You will learn a little about Gilbert's sad past and how he came to Canada. Next up is Part Three of **Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins!**)

(It snowed this morning, but it was melted by the time I got up. On another note, about my writing I'm never satisfied. Typical writer! We love to bash ourselves! And living in Japan doesn't help where self-deprecating is the norm. I swear there is no more popular past time than self-deprecation here. What they call _humility_, the most honorable characteristic a person can have besides self-sacrifice.

I think that's one reason a lot of Westerners find it rough blending into Japan because in the West talking negatively about your own work is seen as well... a sign of asking for compliments, begging for attention, or just lacking confidence. People get annoyed at you. Here, they're like, oh you call that SELF-DEPRECATION, stand aside _gaikokujin_ and let me show you how its done.

I guess a lot of that is rubbing off on me. I find myself even in English doing it more and more. Hmmm... am I becoming Japanese? o.O )


	36. Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins! Pt 3

**Chapter 34: A New Tale Begins! Pt. 3**

(YEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! FINISHED!)

"No, no, no! You hafta queen me," Alfred slurred, picking up his white queen, "Like this," he placed it on top of the pawn and let go. It fell onto the chess board with a clack. There was a pause and then an, "Oops."

"I'll drink to that!" Gilbert drawled, lifting up his flask, Alfred clinked the whiskey bottle against it as Gilbert cried, "To the fallen bitch queen!"

"Don't call my queen a bitch!" Alfred chided him, waggling his finger back and forth in a 'no' gesture, "She's an angel. A beautiful, fallen angel."

"She's wasted. Look at her just laying there," Gilbert said, swaying back and forth, barely able to keep himself on the edge of the bed. The nightstand was positioned between them with the chess board on it and Alfred was sitting on a chair on the opposite side. "Why'd you let her drink so much?"

"What can I say?" Alfred said, throwing him a sloppy grin, "She loves the whiskey!"

"Another shot?"

"'Nother shot!" Alfred agreed and he tipped back the bottle chugging, while Gilbert tipped back his flask.

"Uh-oh," Gilbert said, holding his flask upside down. "Empty."

"Well that's just a crime," Alfred mumbled, standing up, he used the edge of the nightstand for balance, putting the lip of the bottle onto the mouth of the flask. Needless to say a good portion missed and dripped onto the floor, but he got most of it in.

"Uh-oh, alcohol abuse!" Gilbert chimed, gulping down more. "That's it! Floggings for you!"

"Well, shit! But before that, you gonna move or not? It's your turn!" Alfred said, easing himself back onto his chair. "S'not like the pieces move themselves."

Gilbert grumbled something, since his left arm was still broken, he held the flask with his teeth and used his other hand to slide one pawn across the board, knocking two others off in the process, he slammed it down. Taking the flask back with his hand, he grunted, "There, king me!"

"Hey, you can't do that!" Alfred mumbled, "That's called cheatin' and that's not how you play."

"That's how I play," Gilbert declared. "It's the awesome way."

Two soldiers had brought Alfred's bag in earlier, the whiskey bottle snuggled inside. As soon as it was dark and Gilbert was sure the Prince was in bed, they lit a candle and set to drinking. Alfred had been delighted to discover the chess board in his bag too and decided to teach Gilbert some of the game as they got soused.

Truth be told, Alfred was not that drunk. He had been pretending. An easy task when drinking directly out of the bottle. Gilbert, however, was red-faced and gone.

Drunken Gilbert had taught Alfred two things about the man: first, he was quick to anger when drunk and second, he could swing into depressed and lonely just as fast. Like now.

He sniffled, staring at the board, tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at Alfred's fallen white queen mournfully. "What now?" Alfred groaned.

"It's nothing," he blubbered, wiping at his eyes. Alfred rolled his eyes. _Here we go again._ "It's just," Gilbert began, choking on his words, he pointed at Alfred's queen, "It's so sad. She's just laying there. Right her!"

"Pardon?"

"Right her!" Gilbert slammed a fist on the board, knocking several pieces over, a couple rolled off and clattered on the floor. Alfred was tired of picking them up.

Alfred set her upright, "There, happy?" Gilbert nodded, wiping his watery eyes off on his sleeve.

"She really is a beauty," Gilbert said softly, studying Alfred's queen like she was the most fascinating thing ever. "Pity she's stupid and can't see how awesome I am."

"Uh...," Alfred trailed off, looking from side to side. _Gilbert's reaaally wasted._ "Who are you talking about?"

"The queen, you idiot! That magnificent creature," Gilbert continued, staring almost loving at the piece, then he scowled at it. "No taste that one. I mean look at the idiot she married," he sneered, glaring at Alfred's white king like he wanted to strangle it. "That piano-loving prick is not near as awesome as me! I mean, why him?"

"Dude, are you jealous of my chess pieces?" Alfred asked, a little weirded out by this conversation.

Gilbert stared at him blankly and drawled, "God, you're stupid. Why would I be jealous of chess _pieces?_ I'm talking about the queen! Queeeeeen, you moron."

"Ooookaaay, you've had too much," Alfred muttered, reaching for Gilbert's flask, but Gilbert held it away.

"Touch my flask and I'll snap your neck," Gilbert warned, feeling at his belt for a blade that wasn't there so he grabbed his black king instead, waving that around. "'Cause I'm so awesome! I can't be stopped," and then his anger was gone again. That mournful expression back as he looked at Alfred and asked, "Why didn't she pick me?"

Tired of this, Alfred put the white king on the floor and set his queen in front of Gilbert, "There, have her."

"I don't want _her,_" Gilbert muttered, "You don't get it! I want the queen! The queeen!"

_I want to beat my head against a wall,_ Alfred thought, "The who?"

"The girl I love," Gilbert said. Alfred straightened up. _Gilbert in love?_ He couldn't imagine it. Should he pity the poor creature? "It's not my fault I groped her. I thought she was a boy then."

Alfred decided to ignore that statement and all it's oddness. He started picking up chess pieces and tossing them on his bed before placing he board there. He moved the table back, avoiding the candle on the floor while Gilbert flopped backwards on the bed. The man moaned about how fucking stupid that bitch and her wuss king looked together.

Suddenly, as Alfred reached for the chair, Gilbert caught his wrist and in an almost pleading tone, asked, "Am I lonely?"

_How does one answer that?_ He wondered, coming up with the best response he could, "I don't know, are you?"

"Fuck no!" He snarled, letting go of Alfred's wrist, he looked around for his bird, but Gilbird was up sleeping on the canopy as far as Alfred knew. He opened his mouth and then squinted at Alfred. "Oh, is Mattie here?"

Alfred glanced around, but saw no one. "No, why?"

"'Cause there are two of you," he giggled. Alfred wanted to slap his palm against his face and groan. Gilbert's face suddenly darkened and he looked away, saying, "It's so pathetic."

"What?"

"Me," he answered, gulping more from his flask. "Longing for some married bitch," he muttered, his eyebrows curved downward, Alfred thought the man would cry, but then the angry look came back. " Who does that bitch think she is? I am the son of the great Lord of Prussia! An Empire so vast it nearly covered all the kingdoms. I could have been...," he trailed off. His put his forearm over his eyes. "What a joke I've become! Nobles. Goddam nobles. Do you know what they did to my poor Prussia?"

Alfred shrugged. History was not his strong suit. Gilbert continued, his lower lip trembling and Alfred saw wetness trickling down his cheeks. _He's crying?_ Alfred was stunned. He didn't think the man was capable of it. "They fucking tore it apart! Shredded it like a lettuce. They took everything!" He wailed, his hand clenched around the flask. "It's all there fault. No wonder she chose him."

"Gilbert?" Alfred said softly, unsure what to do.

"Just go," Gilbert ordered.

Alfred blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Just go! Get out of here! That's what you wanted, right?" Gilbert sat up, looking a tad more sober despite the wetness under his eyes. "Get me some parchment and a quill. I'll even write you a letter and seal it. Just _leave!_"

Alfred needed no further urging, he went for his bag.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Alfred gaped at the letter, sounding out the words again and again, unable to believe his luck. Gilbert had even had Gilbird fetch his wax seal so he could make it official.

"Once you get out of the East Wing, just tell them you're a messenger for the Prince. With that, they'll believe you. Besides nobody but a handful even know of you," Gilbert said, looking a lot more sober.

"Why? Why are you helping me?" Alfred asked suspiciously. It seemed to good to be true. Remembering himself, he swayed a little and tried to slur his words.

"Don't bother pretending now," Gilbert said. Alfred stiffened a little. "Yes, you think I didn't see through your farce? Think I'm stupid? I know you aren't drunk, but I have to hand it to you. You play the drunk well."

"Fine," Alfred said, "But tell me you really are drunk. I mean the cry-."

"Yes, I am drunk!" Gilbert interrupted. "As for your next question and I know you're going to ask it because you're so fucking curious," Alfred frowned, "No, I'm not betraying Matthew."

"Then why?"

Gilbert snorted, shaking his head, "You just don't know when to quit. You want an answer? Then here's a few: you're useless as a bargaining chip. Why? Because the day I bargain with that Russian scum is the day I vomit up blood and _eat_ it off the floor. Want another reason? Fine! Because that bastard will _know_ you're in America. Don't ask me how. I have no fucking idea, but he'll _know_ and when he does, he'll chase you to hell and back. He'll be _distracted_ with you."

"I see," Alfred said, a little hurt at the harshness, but he wasn't going to spit this good fortune in the eye.

"And because," Gilbert muttered, looking away, he added the last part in a low voice, "Maybe you can find Arthur."

Alfred smiled. "So you do believe in me."

"What?" He snapped, "Fuck no! I'm just saying the only way an idiot like you could have survived this long is by dumb luck. The kinda luck that might turn up something."

Alfred grinned, grabbing his bomber jacket off the edge of the bed, he stuffed the letter in his pocket. It was the last thing he needed to pack. He hoisted the backpack on and said, "Thanks Gilbert. You're alright," Gilbert snorted, but there was an unmistakable upward curve to his mouth. Alfred couldn't resist adding, "Even if your burgers are shit."

"Fuck off!" Gilbert snapped, shooting Alfred the middle finger. Alfred shot it back at him, grabbing the doorknob, he twisted it open, hearing Gilbert give one final warning, "Don't get caught."

"I won't," Alfred whispered and then he was gone.

Getting out of the East Wing was easy. There was only one guard at the entrance and he was sleeping. Alfred wondered if Gilbert had anything to do with it. He hoped so because he didn't want that to be the only protection Matthew had. He still cared for his little bro. Little, because Alfred was positive Mattie had to be the younger of the two.

With Gilbert's letter, getting out of the gates was easy. He pondered if Gilbert had had other reasons for helping him. He was sure there were more, but he didn't want to kick this gift horse in the mouth.

_Maybe,_ his mind suggested, _maybe he just knows that some birds are meant to fly._

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Alfred stood at the crest of a hill, looking toward _Toronto_ and remembering when he'd first arrived. _That feels like a lifetime ago_. The city was now covered by a layer of snow and up above was a thick roof of clouds. Everything was only visible for the sheer whiteness of it all that stood out in the night.

It was hard saying good-bye. There were things that happened there he'd rather not recall, but there were happy things as well. Memories that made him long for things that could never be.

"Goodbye, Mattie, Gilbert, and...," he paused, taking in a deep breathe. There was one name he wouldn't say so instead he said, "everybody." He looked up, imagining the moon shining brightly beyond the clouds, he smiled at it, sure it was up there, grinning back at him.

"Just you wait! I'll save everyone yet or my name isn't Alfred F. Jones!" he promised. Adjusting his bag, he turned away from Canada and headed home.

**End of Part One**

(I DON'T CARE IF THIS LAST UPDATE WAS A SACK OF SHIT OR A BOUQUET OF ROSES! It's finished! *cackles madly* There, that's where Part One ends! If you want to continue this, please move on over to "The Lord of Winter")

After much thought and derision I have decided to stop this here and make a new story for Part Two. Part One wraps up the main plot point of Ivan discovering the switch and Alfred leaving Canada.

Part Two takes up where Part One leaves off and delves into how Lord Ivan came to be and a terrifying truth about the make-up of their world. The stakes are raised. Ivan and Alfred's love develops into something real as secrets are unveiled in Part Two:

**The Lord of Winter**

Canada is being crushed under General Winter's ice. Our favorite hamburger-loving hero is on a mission to save it, but close on his heels is Ivan, desperate to possess

Alfred by _any_ means. Part Two of "The Canadian and the American".

"_May the Lord of Winter reign supreme, aru" _

_ - Emperor Yao of the Chinese Kingdom. _


End file.
